Daughters of the King's Forest
by Mockingbyrd's Tune
Summary: A magician's tricks earn him the attention of the forest queen, a banished Faere bent on ruling her race. Will he unravel the mysteries of Naut and succeed in protecting the daughters of the King's Forest?
1. The Heart of a Child

_The King's Forest - Here meets the fate of three races enshrouded in the mysteries of the pure white snow, the blood-red rose, and the golden dawning sun._

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Chapter 1 – The Heart of a Child

"Mama, does he mean it? Does Papa mean to take us with him this time?" The stout matron smiled upon her child. "Yes, Heta. He says you are both to go with him to take the southern tour over the King's grounds."

The girl of ten looked to her brother with a blissful expression. "Willifric, I think we are the happiest children in the world! No one could be happier!"

"Shhhh, child. Do not speak in that way." The superstitious mother looked around the little cottage as she spoke. Her fear was evident to the children.

"Why, Mama?" asked Willifric. "Why is it not good to say we are happy?"

"You will understand one day…some things are not spoken in words or misfortune might come of it. Now, go and ask your Papa how long you will be away so that I will know what to put into the basket."

The children ran to find their father as he strapped his pack to his horse and called to his servant to prepare the children's beast. He responded to the children, "Tell her we shall return before the fifth night falls. As the two ran toward the cottage, he called to them, "Do not forget to bring your reeds, Willifric!"

The sun had barely risen when woodward, Willifus, his two children, and his servant met with a caravan of two dozen horses carrying huntsmen of the region. Heta and Willifric were together astride a large pack-horse behind their father. They smiled eagerly to one another. Willifus noted the excitement on their small faces and sighed to himself with relief, glad that he had chosen to travel the southern border when he thought there might be those who would accompany him. He was pleased to find the news of the village had been true: the king's huntsmen were gathering the bounty for the king's feast. On the third and fourth day of his tour, he would separate himself from the hunt, leaving the depths of the forest behind. There the children could run about more freely before returning to home and hearth.

The first night the boy and girl settled beside the fire, the roasted hare and the pottage from home warming over the flames. "I am so hungry I could eat a bear!" vowed Willifric, smelling the aroma of the cooked meat.

"How many animals does the King want?" asked Heta again. "And how can he eat them all?"

Willifus howled with laughter, and the hunters, eating their skewered fare, meandered over to know the reason for the mirth.

"No, my daughter; the king will not eat all of the meat himself. He is providing a great feast."

One of the men, Ekhyrt, who had come to listen, spoke to Heta. "Don't you know about the birth of the King's child, little maid?"

She shook her head. The man knelt down and looked across the fire. "A year has passed since our sovereign – long may he live – was given the gift of a child. Now, this is no ordinary child, lass, though she be naught but a girl." The men around him chuckled, and he continued. "Her birth was foretold by the Faere soothsayer, Alugona, and she was born when the moon passed over the sun."

"Why did the moon pass over sun, Papa?" asked Willifric, his mouth full of hot victuals. He had looked skeptical of Ekhyrt's narrative.

"I remember it!" interrupted Heta. "I remember the dark day. I was frightened."

The hunters smiled again, though they had all felt the same fear only a year past.

"Will they feed the girl the animals?" queried Willifric, after the hunters had supped in quiet for some minutes.

"No, boy. All who are invited to celebrate the child's birth will eat at the king's table. They will feed the King and Queen from Connara, the Nayar princes – if they will attend - the Queen Arisdona's sister-princesses of the Faere, and all the noblemen and their ladies in the kingdom."

"Will we go to the feast, Papa?" Heta whispered wistfully.

"Now why would you want to go to the King's feast when we will have our own feast here?" her father retorted.

Heta shrugged. "I want to see the King's daughter. What is her name?"

"They haven't named her yet, child. They will name her during the ceremony."

Both children looked more confused than before, and having finished their repast, seemed ready with more questions. The father quickly quelled their tongues, telling Willifric, "Produce your reeds, boy, and give us a tune now."

The child of eight pulled out the panpipes he had in his pocket and proceeded to carry out the command. The lilting melody of the instrument uplifted the anticipating hearts of the men about them. Hunters from abroad had come to participate in the hunt for delicacies to set before the King and his royal guests. The forest of Abbon Dwin, the King's Forest, was known for its hearty and choice offerings.

Heta picked up her skirts and danced around the fire while Willifric played, his fingers swiftly moving over the reeds rapidly. The men turned to look at one another in delighted astonishment; for the boy musician was a good hand at the ill-crafted instrument. His swift tune was finished and Heta fell down beside him giggling. He laughed as well, and the merriment of the children's voices seemed to echo in a thick silence around them. The atmosphere of the forest had changed and grown quiet. Even the crickets did not chirrup their rhythmic harmony. A wind blew across the underbrush and scattered leaves and other forest debris onto the fires. A sense of uneasiness crept over the camp. The forest about them seemed to emanate a sinister opposition to the happy voices.

Before Ekhyrt returned to stir the fire, he said, "Tis an evil land here. I'll not be looking forward to the view of the accursed wall. Ah, but that is where the mightiest of the beasts we seek will be found, eh? It'll be a plentiful hunt!"

The children were settled on a pallet, and Willifus made his own bed for the night. He felt the same as Ekhyrt about seeing the wall surrounding the untamed forest, but he had no intentions of staying to hunt there. The sooner he did his duty by the king and checked the boundaries, the better. The no man's land, an ancient wood barred from view by the stone wall, was not the King's but touched the southern border of the Forest of Abbon Dwin. No one came within a foot of it but to view it during the tour. There was safety in many, Willifus believed. For, even though he had seen no one near the wall for the twelve years he had guarded the King's Forest, something had changed. He recalled the mornings he walked about early and felt the ominous quake of the trees as they were blown by a wind from that direction.

Willifric was the first to awaken, he knew not what hour. It seemed to him that it was early morn. The vapors of fog had settled over the ground and seemed to be rising as a thick blanket covering the sleeping encampment of hunters. He had the urge to lift his pipes and begin a triumphant tune; he thought it might force away the gloom of the lazy mist. "Will," whispered Heta sleepily, addressing her brother. "What has awakened you?"

"I know not. What you?"

"I am hungry."

Suddenly Willifric was aware of his own hunger and smelled the curious aroma about him. It was sweet and reminded him of the spiced bread his mother made for special celebrations.

"Mmmm…gingerbread, Will. Do you think Mama put gingerbread in Papa's bag?"

"I will look." He slipped out from under his cover and searched the bag beside his father's sleeping form. His hand felt for a soft, rounded package, and though he touched packages of food, he wasn't tempted. The gingerbread was all he wanted. In frustration, he dropped the pack beside his father's head. Willifus never moved; his sleep was too deep.

"There's nothing there!" Willifric spat angrily.

"Oh, Will, I must have the gingerbread!"

"Yea." He sniffed the air again. "It is this way. There must be a hut." He strained his eyes to view where he thought the residence should be. All was shrouded in a dense haze. Heta was out of her bed, now, and together they began to follow the tantalizing aroma.

The prospect of freshly baked gingerbread caused them to increase their pace. "Will!" called Heta, as the boy broke into a run. "Wait!"

"Make haste. I won't leave any for you."

Heta huffed and began to sprint after her brother. The mist was so thick that Willifric could not be sure of his whereabouts and lost sight of his father's camp behind them. He halted his steps to peer about, as Heta, breathless, caught up with him. "I…" she gasped for air, "think we should…go back."

"No! It is near."

Heta looked around her in the fog. "I am frightened."

"You are frightened of everything."

This ruffled Heta, and she stated imperiously, "I am the eldest; I am responsible for you. I say we return to Papa, and you must heed my words!"

"You are not Mama!" scoffed Willifric. "I will not do as you say." And on he ran into the forest, thick with the gray blanket of mist. Heta called to him, but he would not return. Then the scent of the spices called to her. "Oh, if it must be so," she said to the fog around her. "But, when we return, Papa will be angry."

Heta tripped on into the depths of the forest for nearly two hours, worried and sick to return to camp. She came upon a stone wall, and from a gap in it saw a quaint little cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney. She never stopped to consider why there was a cottage. She knew only that her father kept the King's Forest, and she had never traversed deep within it. At the brink of crossing through the jagged crumbling stone, Heta hesitated. The hut glimmered in the distance as the sun's rays sprang to life through the trees behind her and shown on the small abode. She had never seen a house sparkle in such a way; it was as though a myriad of cobwebs had hit the light at just the right angle. The scent of gingerbread was very strong now, and Heta fancied that the entire house was made of sugar, sparkling in the dawning light.

She walked through the wall enclosure and instantaneously crumpled to her knees. Young though she was, she felt the aches and pains of an old woman. She looked toward the cottage to find that it had disappeared. A groan came from a few feet ahead of her. "Heta, I hurt," sobbed her brother, his body lying on the dead leaves that covered the ground.

"We must go back," instructed Heta, forcing herself to speak through clenched teeth. The sight of her brother enduring the pain that she felt was too much for her, and the tears began to slide down her cheeks.

She slowly reached toward him to take his hand as he asked, "How? I cannot find the way."

Heta looked behind at the solid, vine-covered wall. "Oh, Will," was all she could say before the sobs escaped.

"What is this?" asked a small, elderly voice. Between the trees came a hunched woman with a cane who hobbled up to the children.

"Please, old mother," began Heta, relief spreading across her brow. There was something so pleasant, so comforting about the old woman. She was reminded of the cripple in the village who sat dipping the twine in animal fat, forming candles and humming serenely; such a friendly, soft-looking creature she was. "Can you show us the way back through the wall?"

"Of course, my dears. But why do you lie on the ground and cry?" As though by design, the pain that wracked the children's limbs abated, and they both stood up quite sheepishly.

"You know, I was hoping for visitors today. I have been cooking, and I do not have anyone to share the treats with me. Do you like cake?"

"Yes, mother, but-," Heta was too chastened by the previous trial to care for the gingerbread now.

"But you look so tired. Let me feed you, and then you may leave a poor, lonely old woman."

Heta looked at Willifric; his eager anticipation of freshly baked treats was evident upon his face.

They followed the bowed woman toward the house; but the more they walked, the further the house seemed to be. "I am tired," Heta whispered to her brother walking beside her.

"So am I. I think it is because I am so hungry."

"I am fearful that father will wake and miss us."

"We will return anon. We can bring some of the cake back to him."

The old woman glanced back at them, but said not a word as they trudged onward. Suddenly Willifric caught the view of the hut again and was amazed to find it was larger than he had supposed. "Look Heta! It is a castle! A castle made of sugar! Have you ever seen such a thing?"

Heta eyed it ravenously. "It looks delicious."

"Come now, children. You are hungry, and my cake must be cooled by now. We must hurry." They ventured onward quickly, enticed by the sparkling tower before them. Soon they began to traverse the steep hill which wound around the thin, spear-like castle, when the old woman stopped before the sugary wall. It looked as though she would eat it. She leaned into it; the wall opened to her and she pointed to the entrance. "My cake is inside, children."

The dark hole looked ominous, and both Willifric and Heta hesitated. "What is it? Are you no longer hungry?"

"No, I am still hungry," Willifric told her. "But it is dark, like the inside of my mama's oven."

The old woman grasped the side of the entrance and withdrew a fist full of what looked to be a sugary substance. "Is this like your mama's oven, silly child?" She asked him and thrust the sweet bread under his nose.

Willifric knew it for what it was. "Cake!" he exclaimed, and Heta reached out to touch the wall. She scratched the wall, but the cake was hard as rock to her small hand.

"There is more inside," the old woman beckoned. The children followed her, their mouths watering in anticipation.

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**A/N: This is actually the prologue, since it is the only chapter that is chronologically out of order.**

**Hansel and Gretel were the original names of the children, but where changed as the story progressed. You will learn the fate of these children in a couple of chapters. But, first, the next chapters will recount occurrences three days previous…**

Pronunciation Guide:

Alugona - A(like the letter)-loo'– guh– na

Connara – Con'-ner-uh

Nayar – No-vor'

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na


	2. A Lying Tongue

Chapter 2 – A Lying Tongue

_(Three days previous)_

"If you will guess where the acorn is, it is yours, young sir!" a man called out to an 8-year-old boy, as he crossed the busy marketplace on his father's arm.

The boy turned to his father. "Papa, can I guess? Can I?" The man looked down at his son, then at the middle-aged man perched on his stool between two vendors' booths; his grey eyes challenged, his red-tufted eyebrows shaded their mischievousness.

"Give a try, my boy, if it is a courtesy play."

The magician nodded and addressed the man. "He's a wily little fellow from the look of him."

"He is that," acknowledged the father. "There isn't much that will fool him."

The red-bearded charmer moved his wooden props, quickly passing his hands over his makeshift display.

"Now…" The stranger looked at the boy, "where is the acorn, young sir?"

"It's under that one," pointed the boy.

The magician lifted the wooden cup, and the nut rolled upon the board. The boy jumped up and down. "Did you see it, Papa? I got it right!"

"Take it, boy." The magician feigned chagrin. "You've won it."

The boy took it readily. "Would you like to try again?" the manipulator asked. The father began to pull his son away from the table.

"Come along, Willifric."

"But, Papa, I can find it again!"

The magician held up a coin and it shone in the midday sun. "This time, try your skill at finding this." The man quickly placed the piece under one of his cups and began shuffling his props again.

The coin was too much for the father to pass up. Surely this magician would not let his son win a silver denar! He stopped and allowed Willifric to return to the table. The boy's eyes watched the game severely. The shuffling stopped and the magician passed his hands slowly over the cups.

"Now…" The cunning man looked at the boy, "where is the coin, sir?" His eyes lifted to the level of the boy's father whose arms were now folded across his chest. The boy pointed to the cup. "Are you certain?" The magician looked at the boy's father, and the boy, seeing the gesture, did the same.

"Go on then," the father told the boy.

"That one," Willifric gestured, pointing to the same cup.

"Very well," the magician stated, lifting the cup. The coin glittered, as the man flipped it into the boy's hand.

The father was ridiculed the man at the tottering table. "How do you keep your stomach filled, man? Even a boy can figure out your game." The man laughed louder as his son lifted the coin and showed it to his father. The laughter brought curious eyes to look upon them.

"You offend me, sir. I will let you challenge my skills for the boy's coin."

"Why should I play for the boy's coin? What is the challenge in that?"

"I gave him two games."

"Of your own accord." The father's arms were still crossed, and he leaned toward the grey-eyed man in a manner that displayed that he was not persuaded.

"Verily, I will make it worth your time." The magician glared at the father and pulled from around his neck a stone of indigo shades that cascaded its many colors in the light of the day.

"Hunh," the man scoffed again, looking at the crowd that had gathered around them; for the disagreement had intrigued the curious.

The magician knew he had already won, as he held the stone gingerly, lifting the cord from around his neck. "I will play you for this. What token will you put upon the table?"

"I will put no token on the table, daft man."

The magician slammed his fist upon the cloth-covered shambles of a platform in front of him, announcing loudly, "You have allowed your son to take my money, you have so much as named me an unskilled magician, and now you have discredited my capabilities of reason!" He turned to the onlookers, "All I have asked is to prove my skill, good people. And this man laughs at me and calls me names. Should my request not be satisfied? I ask you?" The swindler now turned to one in the crowd.

"You, sir. Do you think this man a fair judge when he will not play me?"

The man shook his head. "Well?" the magician continued. "And you, man. Do you think I have done anything to merit such scorn?" He had chosen a young colt of a man who looked to be just entering the age of maturity. He chose correctly. The man piped up, "No, nothing at all, sir. The good sir, if he be good, would do better to take up your fair challenge."

The crowd was stirring and mumbling among themselves. The father's eyes traveled uneasily from his son to the magician.

"Very well. But only to show that I am not a railer."

"What is your token, then, sir?" The sly one spread his hands in midair above the table, gesturing that he would be willing to agree to anything the man presented. The man opened the pack at his waist; aware of the stares of the people around him, he chose an article he would not be disgraced to bring forth.

He lifted from it a bundle of thin, leather laces. He held it up, still unconvinced that he would proceed.

"Shall I play you for the leather strips then, sir?" The magician goaded, knowing exactly how to convince his target to do his bidding.

The man nodded, looking glum but settled in his mind that he must meet the magician's challenge.

"I will lay my treasure beside yours here upon the ground." He placed his necklace in front of the game board. The father did the same with the leather strips.

"Would you be so kind as to allow your son to give us his coin to play?" The father looked as though he would object. "It is only to borrow; for, you see, I have no other coin." The magician shrugged dramatically, gaining sympathizing gazes from the crowd.

The father nudged his child, and, unwillingly, the boy gave up his prize.

The magician glanced at the people surrounding them and placed the wooden cup over the coin again. He began shifting the props in just the way he had done before.

"Now…where is the coin, sir?" he looked directly into the eyes of the father, whose arms were crossed again. This time the man was looking uneasily at the table; he began to point to one of the cups, but brought his fingers to his chin instead. He contemplated for a moment more as the people around him became impatient, shuffling their feet or whispering to one another.

The father pointed to the cup he had chosen. "There," he said. "The coin is there."

"Here, you say?" asked the magician, his finger on the top of the cup.

"Yes," stated the man. "Hurry man, lift it."

The magician moved it from the table slowly. There was nothing beneath it. There were gasps and some snickering. The father's eyebrows were lowered across his forehead.

"Papa," whispered the boy, "the coin was under that cup." The boy pointed to another prop which still rested on the rickety wooden surface.

"Here?" The magician asked, and raised the cup. The cries of surprise went through the crowd when the coin was uncovered. "Ah, sir," spoke the manipulator, "you should have let the boy choose. He is a wily one, indeed."

"Again," stated the man. There was silence from the crowd around him. The magician acted as though he had not heard him.

"He said he wants to try again," cried a townswoman. There were some who were cackling as the swindler looked up into the father's face, quizzically.

"This time I want my boy to choose," stated the man firmly. Willifric's eyes questioned his father. The look was not returned; the man was staring at the magician's table.

"But you have placed no bet or ware as earnest, sir," The tempter's words were smoothly pronounced.

The man was going through his satchel now. He pulled from his bag another set of leather laces. The magician leaned back. "Now, sir, I am not a greedy man. I have little enough to prove that," he chuckled to himself and his audience laughed as well. "I have put forth a gem of some value, and with it I will add the laces you have just lost. You may win your laces back if your son chooses rightly once again. But it would be foolish of a poor magician to play for what is not of equal value to his own offering, would it not, sir?" The man was ready to apply to the crowd surrounding him, if needed, but the father immediately saw his folly.

Hesitantly, the victim pulled what looked to be the horn of a ram from his satchel. As it curled, its sharp point protruded from the center, ready to sting one who did not use care in handling it. But for the coloring of the horn, which was a smoky blue-green, it looked to be ordinary.

For a moment a glimmer of greed flashed into the magician's eyes. The horn might be of some value due to its distinct coloring.

"You wish to play for the horn?" the magician asked. "May I see it?"

The father handed the crafty trickster the token. The magician handled the horn as though he was not convinced that the bet was even, yet he bent to place the piece next to his own offering.

"Very well," he stated. "Shall we play?"

"And my son will choose," the man repeated, as the magician moved the cups swiftly on the surface of the table. He stopped.

"Choose boy," demanded the magician. Every face was earnestly contemplating the boy's choice.

"That one!" the child said firmly, and the magician lifted the one to which he gestured.

There was nothing beneath it.

"You, you thief!" expressed the father, gripping his son's shoulder as he tried to keep from attacking the man.

"Now, now. The boy clearly had his choice. Am I a thief because he chose wrongly?" The crowd began to wander away. The magician had triumphed, and there was shame felt by the individuals who looked on at the powerless father who was now bereft of his possessions.

"Do you wish to play again, sir?" the magician asked.

"No! No, I will not play again. I'll call the authorities, the city guard."

"My good sir, the witnesses will attest that I did not steal your possessions. You offered them yourself." The magician gestured to the straggling few still viewing the argument.

"Come, Willifric," the father stated, yanking up his child's arm as he turned from the table and marched away.

The magician knew his time was up in that location. The sooner he removed himself, the better.

"Sir," a soft, female voice summoned, as he began to put away his props into the satchel. He looked up to find a hooded figure before him. Wisps of golden-red tendrils escaped the opening of the hood, but he could not see the face pocketed inside the cloth.

"You did not return the boy's coin."

The magician looked down at the money still resting on the table. "You are right; I must have forgotten. Will you return it for me?"

He lifted the coin toward the figure, and a white hand slid out from beneath the cloak to take it. The forearm was without blemish, curved and slender. It took his breath; for he had only seen two persons in his lifetime with such porcelain skin. A sly smile spread across his face, and he pulled the coin back.

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**A/N: So, Willifric and his father were at the marketplace and got bamboozled out of an odd-looking horn; and the magician is about to pounce again.  
**


	3. Honeyed Lips

Chapter 3 – Honeyed Lips

"How do I know you will return it?" he asked suspiciously. The hooded one did not answer, but dropped her arm to her side. Its pale brilliance glittered distinctly against the gray cloak shrouding her figure. He feared someone would see the pale limb, yet was not willing for that lovely arm to be hidden from his sight. "Let us make an agreement," he cajoled. "I will let you take it, and you can deliver it to the boy or not, – it matters not to me – but you must play for it."

He had already pulled the cups from his satchel as he spoke, and placed them on the table. As he shuffled them, he looked up at the figure. She was fully facing the table now, and he could make out a slight shadow of her features. He could not keep the guilty grin from his countenance. He stopped the movement of the cups and waved his hands over the table. "Where is the coin, miss?"

She was shaking her head under the hood, "I do not know. Truly, my only wish was to return it to the boy. His father may not have aught to trade to feed him now."

The magician feigned concern. "You are very compassionate toward the boy. Do you know him?"

"No. But I know of hunger."

"Stretch forth your hands." The magician had not expected her to follow his command, but, to his delight, from the cloak came the other arm. He reached out to her, and she delicately placed her fingers into his. They had no ring on them but were smooth and soft. "You have known no work."

"Not so, sir; my toil is heavy." Her voice as she appealed to the man was intoxicating. The touch of her hands, for the flesh was warm in his grasp, dulled his senses.

"I will give you the coin," offered the man, mechanically.

"No. I will not take the coin now. We shall play for it. If I win, then you will teach me your art."

The man laughed and found that he was still holding her hands. He let them go. Something within him whispered that there was something very wrong about this game. But he was still smiling, delightedly. Stupidly.

"And what will be my reward if I win?" he asked.

The figure before him shrugged. "You choose, sir."

He feigned to think a moment, but knew his price already. "If I win, then you will marry me." The words came out of his mouth as though his lips were told to say them. Yet, he did not retract them, but watched the movement of the cloaked figure.

Her hands went behind her cloak again. To his amazement, she whispered. "Very well."

"You sir, can you be witness to the stakes of the game? And you, good woman, will you give ear?" The magician called to the people who passed by the booths beside his table.

When a sufficient amount of onlookers were present, he lifted his arms, gesturing to the figure before him. "This woman has consented to play me in a game of the eyes. I have asked you to witness the dealings, because the agreement is not of the common sort.

He addressed the figure standing before him. "Are you steadfast in your decision?"

"I am, sir."

The magician was grinning from ear to ear as he raised his voice to draw attention, bringing more villagers to see what transaction brought on such ado.

"This woman wishes to learn my trade." There were guffaws and chuckles from the crowd. "And I have vowed to take her on as my pupil." The crowd became silent. "If… she chooses the one with the coin beneath it." The magician gestured to his props.

"Conversely, if I win, this woman has agreed that she will marry me!" Now there was cackling, and the crowd drew more tightly around them.

In that expanse of time, the figure standing directly in front of the table did not move. An old woman nearest the table leaned in toward her. "This is not a jest, maid. Are you certain; do you mean to remain by your word?"

The figure turned her back on the magician to the crowd surrounding her. "Why would I not remain by my word?" she asked.

The crowd around her laughed uproariously, and the magician felt a slight quake of fear that someone might have glimpsed her white face in that moment. He was certain they would not have reacted with mirth if they had, though. He spoke to his audience. "Very well, then. Shall we play?"

"Are you serious, man?" a voice shouted to him, but he had already begun to shuffle the cups. They circled deftly this time. He knew it was unfair, but he was intent on employing all his powers of illusion upon the girl, skill and tricks of the mind combined. As he did so, the cloaked figure drew down to the level of the table. His hands worked quickly; yet, he could not help but gaze into the opening of the cloak. It was pulled back somewhat, and he almost halted in his movements, so curious was he to see the face of the woman.

The props stopped moving, he waved his hands over the table in his customary fashion. "Tell me," she asked loudly enough for the others to hear. "Why do you hold your hands over the table in that manner?"

In that moment, the man looked at the face in the cloak; for she was looking at him directly. Something about the light and the way in lit on the cloak blurred her features. Her face was covered in tiny flashes of color, like a myriad of cobwebs shining in the morning light. He could make out the eyes; that she was smiling. He looked on her, awestruck. His mind told him that he was looking upon incredible beauty, and he did not question that his eyes could not fully comprehend what his head knew to be so.

"Knock them off the table, man, before she decides!" someone in the crowd called to him.

Why would he do that? The remark unsettled him, and he averted his eyes from her face, looking above her head toward the townspeople.

"Shall I choose?" the lovely woman asked. Her voice was so alluring that he swallowed in hopeful anticipation.

"Choose," he demanded. The greediness was apparent in his eyes as he gazed on the mysterious personage before him.

She turned away from him, addressing the crowd. "He says I should choose."

There was no laughter, no encouragement. The man felt an ominous hush fall on the people gathered around the magician's table. The tension confused him. Something was very wrong. Had they seen her features, her strange white skin?

As though in answer to his fear, the woman's slender white arm was revealed as she rested her fingertip on the leftmost prop. "This one," she said, lifting it herself. There was nothing beneath it.

There were gasps behind her. "No, man! Are you bewitched?" came a call from the crowd. Adrenaline flowed through him; they had seen that the woman was not of their race. He must do something to hide her quickly.

The cloaked figure stood up, still holding the cup in her porcelain hand. She consulted the onlookers, "I am bested! Now, what was the agreement?" She pulled back the cloak from her head.

The first thing the manipulator noticed was the yellowing titian head of hair. Where were the glimmering tresses? Then he looked into the face of the old woman, her eyes laughing at him. Her skin was as ruddy as any townsperson; her hands were not white, but red and knotted.

"I suppose I must keep my word…" her voice was still soft, but now it held a lilting melody. She held the cup between her fingers and tossed it to him with a raucous shriek.

The magician was stunned. What was this trick? It was more powerful than any simple enchantment he could wield. She stretched out her hands to him. He watched as his own hands reached out to her willingly.

"When will we marry?" asked the mesmerizing voice.

"Now," he heard himself state.

"She is a witch!" someone was shouting.

"Look at his face. He is in a trance, do you not see?" another spoke from the multitude.

"Someone run for the guard."

The crowd followed them as they walked toward the gate of the city, approaching the guard stationed there. The soldiers did not stop them; they had no quarrel with an old woman and a visitor come to trade on market day.

"Snap out of it, man!"

"Is there no one to help him?"

"Where is she taking him?"

On the magician walked, his legs moving forward of their own accord, and he did not care. This was the most restful feeling he had ever known. He wanted to sleep on, and then he would wake and the dream would be over. He would be back at his mother's abode with Nivea's dimpled arms around his neck again. Nivea! The name of his sweet gift of fortune brought him to his senses, just as he reached the city walls. He could see her; her white face looking up at him with luminous, dark eyes. No, he must fight this blissful spell that was clouding his senses. What would happen to Nivea if he did not?

"No," he said. His voice sounded confused and half-awake.

The reaction was instantaneous; the sorceress turned and looked upon him. Her face was shimmering again, and he inhaled as the sensation came over him. She was so beautiful. He allowed her to lead him through the gate. The spell-bound man and his captor were on the outskirts of the forest when the woman turned to him again.

"Who is she?" she stated. Her face was still shimmering before him.

"Nivea?" he asked. He had no ability to lie to her.

"Yes, Nivea. Is she your wife?"

"I have no wife."

"Who is she then?"

"My little one."

The woman smiled, and the glimmer over her features faded away. He was looking at a woman with hair as white as the hottest flame; her eyes, shaped like tears, were a silken, glittering green, her skin a shining onyx. He had never seen her equal. Yet, there was something very familiar about her face. It reminded him of Nivea, but this was an ominous beauty. He could not but stare all the same.

The man felt the feeling over him fade. He was himself again. Every muscle of his body ached for the sensation that he was floating to return. She raised her hands to the crowd behind them. They were coming toward her en masse one moment; in the next they were falling back to wander through the gate. When the last of them retreated, the woman enshrouded her head with the cloak and spoke to the magician. Her voice was alluring once more. "You will follow me and forget your child."

The feeling of bliss returned. But, when she spoke of Nivea, he knew that he was not his own man again. This time he was aware of the spell, and realized that his moment of escape had come and gone.

There was no one to stop the two trespassers as they entered the forest of King Exlir. Willifus, the keeper of that region of the forest, had gone into the city that day to sell pelts, taking his son, Willifric, along. The magician felt as though he walked for many miles, but his limbs did not feel it. He moved forward swiftly, eager to catch up with the woman, but she was always too far ahead. It would have been a miserable dream had he not felt so elated, spurred on at every turn by a small glimpse of her shadowy figure as she passed through the trees.

Where he was going did not concern him. They came to a stone wall, and he ran to catch up with her when the woman halted at the barrier. But the barrier vanished, and she passed through.

"Wait!" he called to her and ran for the portal. He followed her through the wall and, as his foot hit the earth on the other side, reality returned to him. His legs crumpled beneath him. Every muscle of his body was in a torturous state.

"Oh," he groaned, and the woman turned to him. "Help me," he gasped, his body racked with excruciating pain.

* * *

**A/N: The trickster was duped by someone who can delude the senses, and he ends up in the same place as the children. Seemingly, she's also the old lady that charmed Heta and Willifric in chapter one. But, what does she want with a magician?**

Pronunciation Guide:

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer


	4. Swift to Destruction

Chapter 4 – Swift to Destruction

She ignored his plea. "Stand and make haste. My servant will smell your blood, and you will die before you have been of any use to me."

"I cannot…" he whispered, writhing in a huddle upon the dead leaves of the forest floor.

"Very well," she responded with contempt. "You will be eaten alive if you allow the darkness to find you here." She stood before him, a silhouette, as the sun's last rays faded into the gloom of the night clouds. This land was not familiar to him. Where had she led him? He turned himself to the wall through which he had walked. He reached out his hand to touch the solid stone.

"There is no returning," her cold voice spoke. "You will perish."

Nivea flashed into his mind again. "I cannot. Nivea needs me."

The woman laughed. "She needs you, a witless cheat? Why? So you can bluff simple-minded fools into giving you of their meager possessions to feed her?" She walked toward the fallen man. "Yet, your pathetic displays have won you a favorable prize, have they not? Many of your kind would die for such a gift as I offer you."

"I beg you," he pleaded without comprehending her meaning. "Leave my child be. I will pay for my tricks, but do not hurt my little one."

She dropped the hood from her head to rest on her shoulders and looked down on him complacently.

"Do not, I beg you," he repeated. The pain was too much to endure. He would rather die than go on this way. Yet, he would not let this woman have his child; his treasure. He still did not understand her true motive.

"Will you promise to bind your life to mine; to marry, as is your tradition?"

The question astonished him. He had begun to consider his imprisonment as a calculating scheme to capture his Nivea. For Nivea was special. He had taken great pains to keep her little person hidden for almost four years. He would serve this woman as a dog to protect the little white one, and yet she wished him to marry her? What was this strange woman about?

"You will have naught to do with my child if I marry you?" he gasped out.

The woman laughed. "Why should I care for her? You are the one I have brought here! Now will you promise?"

"Yes," he whispered. The terror within him at what would be his fate was nothing to the pain making him almost senseless now. He felt as though his life was oozing from his body as the seconds ticked by.

"You will bind yourself to me?"

Instead of relieving his pain, she was allowing it to continue. He could hardly comprehend the question. What did she mean?

"Hasten to answer, Kynd, before he comes." She referred to the race of Kyndciant with revulsion. The sun was down and the shadow of night was spreading over the terrain like the wings of a hungry, black bird.

"My name is-" He was trying to remember it for himself. Flashes of his past were spinning before his eyes. All he could see clearly before his mind's eye were the black eyes of his Nivea looking upon him reproachfully.

"I do not care what you are called. Will you vow to be bound to my heart?"

He hesitated. All he had to say was yes, and it would be over. But the woman was evil.

"He comes," she stated. The man felt a presence and heard the movement only a few leagues from his place. Whatever it was, he was certain it meant only death. The pain was increasing. It was as though whatever was out there was weakening him from within; preparing him to be defenseless prey.

"Yes, yes. I will. Save me!"

"Until death?"

Oh, the beast was coming closer. He could hear the animal's rasping breath as it strained to take in air, racing rapidly toward him.

"Yes, until death!"

He barely released the words from between his chattering teeth before he felt something pull his body into the air, and the creature came out of the foliage. It was unlike any beast he had ever seen. The hair down its back was as the feathers of an eagle. Its eyes were glowing crimson embers; its neck bowed like that of a vulture's. Its mouth had tusks of a boar, and the head was covered in sharp spikes. Yet, the face was the face of a wild man. It stopped and sniffed beneath the floating magician, with talon-like fingers folding and unfolding as it worked over the ground. It halted its search and sat back on its haunches. Its neck folded in toward its body, giving the impression of a lion's mane encircling the horrible features of the countenance.

It growled and addressed the sorceress. "I should have known you would only tempt me, Malafiegr." Its voice was hoarse, but clearly a man's.

The captive above them looked on the woman, his shoulders hunched forward in despair. He understood now. He had just given his vow to the Queen of the Forest of Naut. He would remain hers, bound to her unmerciful heart, until death. And, according to the legend, she would live forever.

The woman laughed quietly at the terrifying beast in her presence. "I had to be certain you were still diligent in your task, Fieran." The beast flashed his fangs at her threateningly, growling again before retreating into the dark of the forest.

"Come, Kynd," stated Malafiegr, and led the man into the depths of the wood. As his feet touched the ground, he looked in every direction for the awful beast to come at him again. But it did not. They walked on and on, yet the pain in the man's muscles did not return. He could not tell whether he was bewitched or freed of the spell that was over him. The metallic-haired woman was clearly before him, walking and never tiring. In the light of the moon he espied a vast mountain in the distance, and, as they drew near it, it seemed to grow in size.

"I welcome you to your home, my lord," she said mockingly, pointing to the top of the mount. The black castle stood out from the deep blue of the night sky. Its towers were jagged knives thrust into the soft pillows of gray clouds as they passed over the fortress. The man could not help but sigh at the thought of the journey still before him.

The Queen of Naut traversed the ascending narrow path toward the mountain. The man could see that the drop on each side of the way was steep and could not perceive its depth in the darkness. He looked to find a door in the side of the metal, black mount through which the enchantress walked. He ran quickly, for the passage was closing, and entered therein.

Within was complete blackness; then a ball of light appeared and he followed it through the rugged corridor. The rocks jutted out on every side, and he hit some of the sharp edges as he made his way behind Malafiegr's shadow, bruising his arms. In the distance he could make out the chinking sounds of rock being chiseled away. The mount seemed to emanate a low hum, and it was only when he entered a large, hollow room that he realized the sound was not the mountain itself but the inhabitants of it.

There were torches glowing in small crannies around the huge expanse, and he could see the workers hewing at the stone, humming in a low, rich harmony.

"The Queen!" shouted one of them, and flames were carried forward, hanging over the precipices for a closer look. The light, resting in the hand of Malafiegr, glowed upon the features of the woman he was following.

"My devoted ones," she addressed them in her voice of enchantment. "Have you any gift for me?"

One of them appeared before her, bowing low. As he came to present something within his hands, he lifted himself to his full height. The magician could see that he was twice the stature of a common Kynd and ghostly white, but for his dark hair and eyes. Malafiegr's prisoner surmised him to be of the Nayar. The queen reached out to take the gift before turning to her betrothed to demand, "Give to me the stone you brought forth in the city."

He felt for his satchel which was on his back. He went through it quickly and handed her the blue-violet stone.

"Tell me, Geyarydt, is this from my mountain?" The giant studied the stone for a moment before answering, "No, my Queen."

The illumination of the ball dimmed, and the worker withdrew himself from the presence of Queen Malafiegr. The torches returned to their walls, and the pickaxes returned to their polyrhythmic symphony. Through the mountain the magician continued, journeying behind his guide. Up and up they climbed the winding stairs until they finally reached the keep.

The man was fatigued beyond measure, but the pain had not returned. Fearfully, expectantly, he waited for it to do so. Malafiegr opened a door into a great hall. His eyes smarted in the radiant light that met them. He immediately perceived that he was entering a throne room. The Queen traversed the expanse of the hall and sat upon her seat.

"This will be yours." She gestured to the empty place beside her. He looked to the smooth chair of sapphire and to the servants lining the great room. Kynd and Nayar stared forward, their gazes touching nothing. He questioned whether they were living.

"Now bow before me, you who would feign to embrace the mysteries of magic," commanded Malafiegr.

The man did as he was told, though not by his own power.

"Your life is mine now. You have forfeited it by your promise to serve me all of my days."

Something was happening to him. He felt as though he could not take a breath. Was she killing him? He could not move, and felt as if his body was folding into itself over and over. He wanted to scream, but he could not. Then consciousness evaded him.

The Queen looked down at the stone in her hand that the giant had given to her from the heart of the mountain. The stone glowed golden, and beams flashed from it. She wrapped her finger around a silver strand of her hair and extracted it from her head. Its point was sharp and pierced the tip of the teardrop-shaped stone. She threaded the strand of her Faere hair through and encircled it around her neck: a silver chain with a glowing pendant.

"Mother," stated a small voice.

The woman looked down upon the dark head of the child who stood before her. The girl was carrying a large book under her arm.

"Who was that Kynd you put into the stone?" the child asked, drawing near her mother in awe of the jewel.

"He will be my husband, Reygul," Malafiegr answered. The mother's lips curled disdainfully as she touched the child's soft, blood-colored ringlets in a foreign manner.

"Oh," the girl said, and reached for the glowing stone as it hung on her mother's neck. The woman pulled away, embracing the jewel in her fist.

"Go away now. Where is your nurse?"

"I put her in the tower. She was being very ugly to me today."

Malafiegr smiled on the child. "How did you put her in the tower, Reygul?"

"I put a draught into her drink," the little child began to giggle. "It made her sleepy, and I called to one of the guards that my nurse was asleep, and when he came to me I bewitched him." She was giggling uncontrollably now. "He thought she was a bat, and I told him to shoo her up to the tower."

The light left the mother's eyes. "You did not transport her, then. I see." Malafiegr sighed, "Ah, your power is so weak. But it is to be expected when you have so much Kyndciant blood." She waved her hands at the girl.

"Go now. I must work through the night to be ready."

The girl began to retreat, downcast, before she turned her fierce dark eyes upon the Queen once more. "Are you preparing a great spell, _jylo_?"

"A great spell!" answered Malafiegr. Then she addressed the child, suggesting brightly, "One day you will learn this spell, when you are ready."

The child's shoulders lifted. Her ruby-red lips parted into a gleeful smile. The curls cascading around her features framed the heart-shaped brown face. The queen sharply commanded, "Go!" Reygul almost dropped her book in her hurry to escape her mother's temper.

To her chambers hurried the queen and sealed the door with her enchantments. She removed the necklace from her neck and placed it on a branch of a tall, silver tree that stood in the corner of the queen's chamber. The tree's barren, twisted limbs gave the impression of many hands with fingers pointing in odd directions. The necklace burned with amber light and began to rock on the metal limb as though an imaginary breeze was blowing it. It joined many others which glowed and rocked.

The queen closed her eyes and the corner where the tree resided began to sink into the wall, as though on a turntable. It was replaced by a long, thin obelisk-shaped fragment of shining stone, the point of which was directed toward the evil Faere. Its darkness mirrored the countenance of the one standing before it, as well as the surrounding room, like the facets of a prism. Yet, an odd tremor of light flashed through it at intervals.

The queen did not open her eyes as she spoke to the reflective rock:

"Mirror made of ancient stone;

Search o'er lands both great and small.

Knoweth you and you alone;

The Faere whose power rules them all!"

A burning white light shot out from the point of the mirror into the room. The queen was engulfed in the blinding rays, and her figure became rigid. Her midnight skin separated into miniscule colors, and she spoke as though in a trance:

"The power of Maithe Xin jylo surpasses that of any Faere."

* * *

**A/N: Now you know this story is one of those fantasies intermingling fairy tale with created races. These are the three which have been introduced in this chapter: Kyndciant, Nayar - individually called 'Yar,' and Faere.**

**The evil queen has a daughter who is half the race of magic (Faere) and half the race of the swindler (Kyndciant). The words Malafiegr spoke to the obelisk should bring to mind Snow White's "mirror, mirror" with a bit of Tolkien's "one ring." **

**Maithe Xin jylo will be explained in the next chapter.**

Faere Term:

Reygul addresses Malafiegr as _jylo_, which means mother in the Faere language.

Pronunciation Guide:

Kynd – Kend

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Malafiegr - Măl'- uh-'fay-air

Fieran – Fee-air'-un

Nayar – No-vor'

Yar – Vor

Geyarydt - Gah-vorvt'

Reygul - Ray'-gul

Maithe - Mayth

Xin – Ex-in

jylo - shy-loh


	5. Dark Visions

Chapter 5 – Dark Visions

"Aaliristo!" welcomed King Exlir as the ambassador entered the hall. The dark figure moved toward the seated ruler quickly and knelt before him.

"I have surveyed the five residences this morning as you bid me, your Excellency."

"Are they well-furnished and thoroughly suited to the requirements of our guests?"

Aaliristo hesitated. "My lord…"

"My friend, do not try to please me. Speak truth; I want to display every token of welcome. What is lacking?"

"I have taken the liberty of compiling a list, Your Majesty."

King Exlir, stunned for a moment as Aaliristo presented the pamphlet of vellum to his servant, presently hid the smile which played about his lips. He pretended to peruse the list, screening his countenance from the silver-blue eyes of the Faere ambassador. But Aaliristo noticed the way the bejeweled hand holding the script began to shake.

He bowed low and looked to the hand of the king, as was Kyndciant protocol, for permission to speak. It was granted. "Your Majesty, I see I have given offense, which was not my desire. If it please Your Highness, you may burn the display of my impertinence-,"

Aaliristo was interrupted by a thunderous bout of laughter coming from the seat to which he had bowed himself. It was a full five minutes before King Exlir could address his friend again. By this time Aaliristo had risen, realizing that this king was not angry, but entertained.

"You drew this up since morning?" asked Exlir, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I thought it best to inform you immediately."

"Verily, you have outdone yourself. Next time I should consider consulting my wife about the Faere ways instead of wasting your valuable time with my ignorant miscalculations."

"Your Excellency, my time is of most value when it is given in your service."

King Exlir's eye became serious as he observed the man whose task it was to see to communications between himself and the Faere Queen of the Shield of Prye. "I thank you for your patience with me, Ambassador. It will not go unrecognized."

"Your majesty," Aaliristo bowed, believing his interview with the king to be at an end.

"The progress of the lodgings of the Faere princesses was not the reason I summoned you." The king stood, explaining as he descended the dais. "I have another matter of business which will be spoken of privily." Aaliristo followed him into another chamber to the left of the throne room. Within, where the ambassador had met with the king many times, there was a wall of many works bound in leather sheaths, a half a dozen chairs, a large table near a small window, and another table which contained two decanters and crystal goblets. Exlir carried a decanter and two of the goblets to the table at the window, poured out the drinks, and gestured for Aaliristo to be seated opposite him. The ambassador took the required sip of the king's cut wine and placed the vessel upon the table; for it would not be wanted further.

"I would wish your advice," Exlir began. "Something has been recurring in the past two weeks which concerns me greatly. At first I thought nothing of it. My wife is fatigued; the child is still young. But…" The king shook his head and inhaled, leaning his great frame over the table towards the Faere. He rested his elbows on the table and pressed the fists of his mighty clasped hands to his lips as though considering his next words. The dark man opposite him waited, perusing the lines etched across Exlir's forehead with his keen eyes.

"She has been having dreams," the husband mumbled with his mouth still pressed to his fingers. "She has awakened so frequently in a state of terror that I have taken to sleeping on her dressing couch to be there when the nightmares awaken her."

"Your majesty, might I ask for a description of the dream?"

"There is more than one, but they all involve a small glow of light beckoning to her. She follows it, and it leads her to view things that horrify. Some of them she can not bring herself describe to me. One was a large, black serpent-like beast. Its eyes were green, and it consumed the baby's cradle with fire. That night was especially hard; she would not allow the babe to sleep elsewhere but commanded she share her bed."

"Can you tell me of any other beasts or happenings in her dreams?"

"In another she said she saw a dark figure and glimpsed a Faere arm reach into the baby's cradle. When she called out to stop it, the figure disappeared." That night I was able to convince her that there was no other Faere in the castle, else you and she would know of it."

"Yes, I would feel the presence of the race of magic entering the gates." Exlir looked at the shiny black countenance and into the pale azure eyes questioningly. "I assure your highness, I have not perceived the essence of another Faere in seven months; that is, since Alugona took her leave."

Exlir breathed in sharply, and the Faere counselor could tell the question which concerned the king most was to come. "Aaliristo, my friend… Do you believe that these dreams stem from Arisdona's longings for her home again?"

"Does she mention wanting to return, my lord?"

"No. She has not mentioned it to me since our daughter was born. I believed her to be content."

"Then I do not consider that the difficulty."

King Exlir's relief was visible. "Then what could be the cause for these visions?" he thought aloud.

"With your permission, I would wish to consult with Queen Maithe."

Exlir was openly troubled, and Aaliristo quickly added, "It may be nothing but the normal concerns of a new mother. But, I must tell you, what you have told me disturbs me. Answer me this: are all her dreams connected with dark beings?"

The king thought for a moment. "As I recall… Yes." He looked at the ambassador with confusion. "Yes. The snake, the Faere arm, and there was the dream of the black bird that flew onto the ledge of the child's window and stared through the opening with its green eye."

Exlir witnessed a phenomenon of the race that only occurred when a Faere was moved with deep emotion. Aaliristo's smooth black face rippled, a myriad of colors separating and reassembling themselves. "Tell me what it means, my friend. Do not hide it from me," directed the king.

"I am unsure, but I will consult with my Queen immediately."

"You know something you are not telling me."

"I beg you, your Majesty, let me contact Arisdona's mother; for I do not wish to be rash in my advice to you." Aaliristo waited as the light of impatience went out of the king's expression.

"Very well, Aaliristo. I trust your judgment. I only ask that you make haste to carry out your inquiries, so that I, and most importantly, my Queen might rest easy again." As Exlir spoke of his wife, his voice broke with emotion. Aaliristo's tilted his head imperceptibly. He could never understand the strength of the love between these two which bridged the differences of race and culture. His eyes glanced over the deep red skin of the great King's forearm which was covered in a thick mat of hair. His face was covered in a bushy titian mane, and even his eyes, brown in regular light, flashed auburn in the glow of the sun coming from the window. He was of the red race; the noble Kyndciant, so recently at peace with the Faere. He stood up and bowed to the ruler of the kingdom of Abbon Dwin, announcing, "I shall act upon it immediately." He never turned his face from the king, as was the custom of the Kyndciant, and bowed again before retreating from the room.

_Most noble of the Faere is Maithe Xin jylo of the Shield of Prye. I, _Aliristo,_ six years 'A', your humble servant and ambassador to Abbon Dwin, seek your assistance in a matter which may be considered most urgent. Your daughter, _Risdona,_ four years 'A', is in good health but for a complaint of the common sort: that of sleepless nights. The cause of her restlessness has been brought to my attention this very hour as it pertains to a succession of ominous visions. The content of these stirs me to hasten this dispatch at once. These are three accounts of the visions plaguing your daughter: …_

… _I need not address my fears; for, you will know them already. If you consider this the threat that we have foreseen, I beg you, give me leave to speak with mine host, King Exlir. I have all faith that he will consent to send his armies forth to join with the Faere against our enemy._

_I remain ever at your bidding._

That very afternoon he sent his message to Queen Maithe by the dove he entreated. The small bird took the straightest course leading to the crystalline fortress on the isle which was home to the Faere Queen; but the dove dropped, mid-flight, over the Forest of Naut and did not reach the Shield of Prye.

Two days later, a shimmering white bird landed on the battlements of Abbon's Dwin's wall. The soldier who reached the bird was astonished by its strange sparkle. It allowed the pouch to slide from its neck and flew away forthwith. Into Aaliristo's hands was entrusted the pouch. The ambassador withdrew from it the correspondence; its translucent, satin pages swathed in a scent which caused Aaliristo's breath to catch in his throat. Homesickness flooded over him; how he longed to place his foot on the Shield of Prye once more!

_Our worthy servant, Aaliristo, ambassador to Abbon Dwin, _

_Maithe Xin jylo salutes you and so do thy noble kinsmen. We have great compassion on the wife of King Exlir, our beloved Arisdona. We are quite undone that she should suffer so; yet, we have no premonition of the danger you perceive. Having been a mother twelve times, we attest to what you describe as being a common matter of motherhood. We advise you not to upset the king on the eve of his heir's consecration. No doubt, the new mother will be overjoyed by the arrival of her sisters; who, if given leave to be privy to this discomfort, will be of much assistance in putting anxieties to rest._

_We charge thee: let these thoughts within your breast lie. There is no cause for concern._

Aaliristo folded up the missive discontentedly. He shook his head, considering how Queen Maithe had not been stirred up by the remembrance. Surely this response proved he had importuned the Queen of the Faere by speaking of a matter most unwelcome. He hurried to seek audience with King Exlir and make known the words of the letter to his host.

* * *

**A/N: Now the Kyndciant King of Abbon Dwin has been introduced, along with his Faere ambassador and the Queen of the Faere, Maithe.**

Faere Translation:

'A' – A prefix added at the beginning of a name which means that one who is of Faere descent is absent from/no longer living in his or her homeland, the Shield of Prye.

'Xin' (fem), 'Xir' (masc) - majestic ruler

"jylo" – mother

Pronunciation Guide:

Aaliristo - A'(like the letter)-al-eh-ris'-toh

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na

Alugona - A(like the letter)-loo'– guh– na

Prye – Pree

'A' – like the letter 'A'


	6. The Heart of the Mountain

Chapter 6 – The Heart of the Mountain

Heta was the first to realize the sounds around them. "Someone is striking the walls," she said softly to her brother. She reached out and grasped his hand in the darkness as they followed the old woman through the rocky corridor. They were behind a small ball of light held forth by the one leading them. Into a large, cavernous arena they came; the walls about them giving way to a mighty rotunda of rock and ledge. A low hum, which had seemed to be part of the mountain before, now reverberated around them.

Vaguely, the children could make out the hammering and chiseling. There was labor occurring around them. Willifric and Heta kept close to the old woman; the vastness, the darkness was too terrible now to lose her. From a crevice nearby, a form began to unfold, its size in the blackness looming larger and larger as it stepped forward. Heta screamed and backed away. Her foot slipped on a pebble; but her brother held onto her hand, which steadied her. The light before them stopped in its path and returned. Heta could see a dark woman with green eyes peering at her. The shadowy giant approached, and she felt the breath taken from her chest. The light became brighter and lit the darkened vault.

"No, Eryarynt, back to your work." Heta watched the man – he was a towering man, luminously white in the light – return to his place at the wall, folding himself into the niche.

Heta looked back at the shining woman with glowing eyes in horror-filled wonder. "Keep your sister away from the pit, boy," she commanded. It was then that Willifric and his sister looked behind them at the chasm only inches away from Heta's heel. The girl reeled fearfully but had the presence to back away.

The light dimmed again and continued down the narrow, rocky pathway. "I don't want gingerbread anymore," Willifric stopped, and Heta stayed beside him. The guide had not spoken to them in her kind, matronly voice of enchantment which had tricked their senses into trusting her guise of an old woman; yet, they were aware it was she they had followed into the mountain. The light continued to descend the path encircling the chasm, winding ever downward. They felt forced to continue; they could not stay in the darkness alone with the strange and terrible giant. "What are we to do?" Willifric asked his sister in a hushed voice as they held each other's hands for comfort as well as warmth. The rock around them became colder the further downward the children stepped.

"Where is she taking us?" Heta whispered back, watching the light.

When it seemed they could go no deeper and survive – for, verily, they could hear the echo of their jaws' inability to halt the chattering of their teeth – the light veered out of the counterclockwise motion. They crept silently along a passage, the noises of a distant wind rang in their ears; but, though they hovered in fear that that wind would blow over them and take the last ember of warmth, it never met with their shivering frames. They came to a wooden door nestled in the wall. Their guide opened it; and, as the hinges grated, the aroma of hot gingerbread met their noses.

It could not be helped, they would enter the room. It was a potent waft that dulled whatever will was left within and caused them to go forth into the room as lambs. As Heta followed Willifric into the stone-lined enclosure, the enchantment caused their senses to react to the scent of the tantalizing gingerbread, trying to perceive the cake in the dim light. Heta turned toward the door; the light was fading. "No!" she screamed, as it closed on her and her brother. They were in darkness now.

The aroma vanished as the door was sealed. She could hear Willifric's sobs, and it calmed her rapid breathing. She tried to ascertain where he was in the room. "Will, I will come to you. Only let me know where you are."

Willifric sniffed and spoke pitifully, "I am here, sister." She felt the empty blackness around her until she touched his arm. Heta knelt beside her brother, and they held onto each other, frozen with cold, fearful.

"Will we ever get out?" Willifric asked, giving voice to the dread they both felt.

* * *

"My betrothed, I summon thee. Come forth!"

From the amber stone emerged a shining pearl of light which dropped to the floor like a tear. The magician unfolded from his bow. He started and looked around him sorrowfully. He was in a barren, disused chamber.

"This will be your room as you strengthen your attempts at enchantment. We have no time to waste, so we will begin this hour. The pack on your back: what does it contain?"

He mutely gave her the satchel, and she emptied its contents on the floor of the stark chamber. The horn he had swindled two days before knocked against the shining stone but remained intact. Extra cups, three coins, the strips of leather, two large seeds, the acorn, and a ragged cloth accompanied the horn.

"You hunger for food, and I have need of your desire to learn quickly." He felt the gnawing pain within his belly as she spoke. From her robe she extracted what he judged to be three cards. "Choose one and tell me what you see," she told him. He lifted it to his eyes. He beheld a knave with two children on his back. "It is…"

"I care not. Return it." He did so.

She stacked the three cards together and sorted them out again. Now there were five cards, and she put them into his hands. "Look at them." He lifted them to his eyes.

They were three Queens, a seven, and a jester dancing through flames. He looked at her, confusion written on his countenance.

"Where is your card?" she asked him.

"It is not here…"

"It is there. Stack the cards." He obeyed. "How many do you hold?"

He pushed back each card to reveal another and another. Now there were many cards in his hands.

"This is not your common deception. This enchantment is simple enough, but it will suffice for what I plan for you to do." She perched upon a chair he had not seen to be in the room. He stacked the cards again and felt their lightness in his hand as they became one thin piece.

Suddenly a scent so enticing met his nostrils. "Ah," he said, and felt his mouth salivate. "Food."

The prisoner looked around him, but saw nothing. "If you want to eat the food, you must deal the cards," Malafiegr directed. In front of the woman was a table and a chair, but still there was no sustenance. "Sit."

He did as he was told eagerly. The scent of the nourishment made him pass the cards swiftly - too swiftly. One of the cards slipped to the floor upturned. Its face was blank.

Malafiegr commanded, "Pick it up."

He bent over to do so, and the card slid from him. He got up from his seat to retrieve it, but it evaded him again. He moved around the floor for many minutes trying to catch the elusive card. Finally the Faere sighed.

"You are quite pathetic, magician." She lifted her hand and the card flew to it. She held it against her fingertips. "Here is the first lesson," she stated. "Never let the cards leave your hands until you are sure of them."

He nodded his head. His eyes were like a faithful dog's. He felt so hungry, so desperate to make her pleased with him.

"Now, continue."

He dealt the cards carefully this time, but they multiplied in his hand. He stopped after they were piled upon the table. Instead of discerning whether there was another card to separate, he merely dropped it onto his own pile.

She smiled at him. "Good."

She pushed a small plate toward him that had appeared on the table. On it was a small roasted bird. He lifted it to his lips and bit into it. It was juicy and tender. The seasonings were perfection. As he devoured the morsel, he looked down to find the platter was gone. Now he felt within him the scorching need for drink.

The Queen was nodding to the single card before him. The piles of cards had vanished.

"Place the cards face up."

He did so. As his hand left the upturned card, the picture upon it faded.

He looked up to espy the impatience on the Queen's countenance. He waited, uncertain whether to proceed. He reached out to gather the blank card. It moved away from his hand, dropping to the floor.

Frustrated and thirsty, the man did not go after it. "Summon the card, magician." Her tone was foreboding.

The man looked at her hesitantly then lifted his hand. The card did not move. "Summon it," she whispered through gritted teeth.

"I can't."

Beside her on the table sat a crystal goblet with a clear liquid inside of it. The outside of the vessel dripped with condensation. It was cold.

"Do you want to drink?" she asked sweetly, too sweetly.

"Oh, yes."

"Then summon the card, Kynd." Her words were spoken lightly, but he feared her wrath behind it, thinly-veiled.

He looked upon the simple white rectangle lying on the floor and wished with all his might that it would come to him. It did not. He closed his eyes and tried again. He envisioned the card in his palm and opened his eyes. It was resting on his fingertips, light as a feather. He smiled happily, like a schoolboy, and placed it back on her card. It was blank again when his fingers left it, but he ignored it.

He looked at the goblet and back at the Queen. "Not yet. First, you must try your next card." He dealt himself an upturned card, but did not take his hand off of it. It was a knight raising a sword above his head.

"Remove your hand." The magician hesitated, but then obeyed. The card flashed white for a moment then returned to display a knight of the common sort.

Proudly, the prisoner announced to his captor, "I am thinking the knight."

She pushed the goblet toward him; he snatched it up and drank voraciously. As he lifted his face from the empty vessel, he espied a large sack filled with straw and leaves – a pallet - spread upon the floor. His eyes were drooping now, and he stood to go to the bed. He told the Queen, "I must sleep now."

She instructed, "You will perform one last task before you may rest." The single card was in front of him again; no others were upon the table. "Spread the cards face up in front of you." He did not question the command. He flipped over the first card and imagined the knight again. The common knight appeared. He slid the next card out of his palm. As he laid it on the table, it remained an eight of clubs. He looked delightedly at her.

She smiled at him cryptically. "You will know of true magic soon."

He turned the next card over; it was an ace of diamonds. Yet, as he removed his hand, the picture upon it faltered. Suddenly all of the cards went blank. He looked upon them frustrated, and reached his hand to take them.

Malafiegr was retreating from the windowless room. "Once you have all the suits before you with their figures and faces, then you may lie down to rest. Not before." The heavy door closed behind her. All was still inside the prison. The light that had brightly lit the chamber in the Queen's presence now dimmed to a single candle sitting upon the table.

The man began again by summoning the card into his hand. He laid out the cards, this time making it to five before the faces disappeared. It took so much concentration to think on the various suits and keep them so. He was tired. He put down the blank rectangle and went toward the bed. If he rested, he would be able to think on this task clearly. He leaned his hand upon the pallet to lie down. Immediately a sensation occurred, like flames consuming his arm. He let forth a yelp, quickly removing his hand.

"Not before, magician," came the taunting words of Malafiegr. He turned to look around him, but no one was in the room. The card lay upon the table, and he sat down to it. He did not rest for hours. The cards would not do his bidding.

He had cried and begged. He had lashed out with bitter words, but he had learned the task. Though his mind felt torn in the process, he realized that there was some strength he was mastering. Like a muscle that needed to be exercised, he had pushed the limits of his understanding and conquered something. He did not know what.

The magician's sleep was deep. Later he awoke feeling greatly strengthened, and wondered what time of day it was; for his large cell was very dark but for the small candle which never flickered or went out. Curious, he tried the door. It opened to him. For some reason, he went back to the table and picked up his card before he ventured out.

Without was a long passageway leading both left and right. He took the left corridor. There were no doors on either side as he traversed the empty hall. He contemplated returning to his door and trying the other route when he espied a portal to his left. He stopped to try the handle. It opened to him. He hesitated to enter, looking around him; there was no one. He went into the chamber. There before him was his bed, his table, his candle, and the contents of his sack upon the floor. Discouraged, he sat down again.

"You have only but to ask, Kynd," came the voice of Malafiegr.

He considered these words. What was he to ask? He tried a simple request. "Ale?"

There before him was the crystal goblet. He drank the liquid and finished it. "May I be freed from my prison?"

"Why, my beloved, you are not imprisoned! You came to me willingly, do you not recall?" The voice reverberated through the room and the solitude affected him.

"May I leave this room?" he tried again.

"You already have, once. Didn't you enjoy your stroll?"

She was taunting him, triumphing at his powerlessness. He went back to his pallet in defeat, only to hear the door to his room open. Surprised, he went toward it, half-believing it would close in his face. Outside the door he saw a stairway which had not been there before. He ascended it and came to a passage. It wound around for some distance. Into another corridor he entered, leading him in one direction alone. At its end was the room into which he had come days ago. On the throne sat the Queen. Many servants were ensconced around the circumference of the hall, almost all of them white giants with jet hair and thin black eyes. The hall was decorated splendidly, unlike before. There were large pale golden tapestries hung; all displaying the same silver set of seven arrows. The whole room, from the exquisite, silken-like painted floor to the intricately carved layers of shining deep blue sapphire and onyx stonework above, was alight. A large table was set with finely-crafted golden platters, crystal goblets and silver trays. All variety of delicious meats and pastries were upon it.

"Welcome to our betrothal feast, my beloved. Eat your fill and be satisfied." He looked to the Queen with an expression of disbelief. She was dressed in the palest green and midnight blue. The fire from the candles reflected off her shining silver fingertips, and her right hand displayed a sparkling crimson garnet. Suddenly he smiled like a little child given a treat. He sat down to his food, lifted the cup, and toasted, "To Malafiegr, beneficent Queen and the fairest in the land!" he exclaimed. He looked to her for approval and found that her pale eyes were wide and a broad smile spread across her face.

"Why, magician," she lifted her goblet at the head of the table and sipped to second his toast, stating thereafter, "you may not be as foolish as I supposed."

* * *

**A/N: So, the card is enchanted in a way that works with the owner's mind, and has exercised his mind to prepare him for something. Btw, the bird the magician ate was the messenger dove Aaliristo sent. (Malafiegr is rather mean that way.)**

Pronunciation Guide:

Malafiegr – Măl'-uh-fay'-air

Kynd – Kend

Yar – Vor

Eryarynt –Ar-vorv'-ent


	7. Tholke

Chapter 7 – Tholke

The magician slept well after he had filled his belly and returned to his room. He awoke to find himself in the darkness of his chamber yet again with only the small flicker of flame from his candle to cheer him. He sat up and tried to sense Malafiegr, her haunting watchfulness. He went to the door. Opening it, he peered out, expecting that the stairway might be at hand; but it was not. The corridor went on before him as before. Malafiegr had imprisoned him well.

He returned to the small table in his room, summoned his card, and began to spread the pieces that appeared beneath the original before him. Experimenting with the magic had been intriguing, but his interest waned as the cards filled the surface of the table. He was able to bring forth the faces of the cards effortlessly; he was mastering the magic. As he flipped over another, he considered how he could disentangle himself from the Queen of Naut's grasp. He did not question how he knew that Malafiegr was not attune to his thoughts, or why he entertained the notion to break free for the first time since his captivity. He was mad for freedom; like a wild stud, chomping at the bit to be loosed. It was as though a cloud was clearing which had covered his mind, and he concentrated on it, squeezing the original card in his fist.

He flipped over the next card, and a face flickered upon it. The shape of the countenance was round, the skin a golden hue. It was somehow familiar to him, yet he could not recall where he had seen it. The blue eyes of the portrait were tear-shaped like Nivea's. Nivea! Had he forgotten her? No. His mind was only in the first stages of awaking from Malafiegr's control. It frustrated him that he could not remember the location of the fallow field where he had left his frail mother and Nivea before journeying to the city for market day. Guilt riddled him, and he made the cards on the table vanish. He looked down at the solitary card in his hand angrily. He began to smile vengefully as he drew the corner of it to the flame of his candle. It did not burn. He watched as the small flame hungrily rose and licked the sides of the white rectangle, encircling it with a ball of burning yellow-green. A picture appeared upon it, as though the heat brought it forth. It was the picture of the knave with the two children. He recalled seeing it the first time he had been given the card. He released it as it clung to the flame, hanging in midair. He peered upon it curiously, and the picture on it moved. The knave's profile turned and he found himself staring at his own countenance. What trick was this?

He lifted his hand, as he had learned to do, and attempted to summon the card to his palm. The force within him was taken as though it had been sucked into the flame. He tried again to summon the card, and again the feeling overpowered him. Why was he being drained in this manner? It was as though his energy was being devoured. He inhaled quickly and stuck his hand into the ball of fire, grasping the edge of the card by sheer force for the first time. The card was dislodged and fell to the floor of the chamber. He reached out to pick it up, but it moved away as it had always done before. Cautiously, he tried to summon it again. This time it came into his palm. He turned it over, but it was blank.

He concentrated on the scene he had seen in the fire and looked down at the card. There was the picture again: the knave with two children on his back. It was his profile, though the face did not move now. Had it always been his likeness on the card? He could not recall. He studied the children's faces intently: a boy's and a girl's. There was something about the boy! Yes! That day in the village he had seen him. He had been the son of the man he had tricked into giving him the laces and the blue horn. His eyes roved the room until they came to rest on the horn lying on the floor where Malafiegr had emptied his satchel. He picked it up and examined it, hoping it might give him some better understanding. Finally he set it upon the table, giving up. Surely his mind was stretched beyond reality, and making connections where none existed. He could no longer determine what was real and what was fancy.

Still, he lay upon his cot and scrutinized the card. There was nothing more that he could tell from the picture but that he was carrying two children. Memories came flooding back of carrying his Nivea; he closed his eyes and remembered her expressions. She had a slow way of smiling with a peaceful light in her onyx eyes. Pictures flashed from his mind's eye of her black hair shining in the light from the opening of the covered cart, as his mother wrapped it up. She would hide the strands underneath the cloak with the hood of red hair, which had been woven into it to fool one who might glimpse the girl during the day. He had always wondered what had brought her to him; how could he have been chosen? He had been out in the field all the morning, overseeing the count of the last harvest of barley. She seemed to appear out of nowhere: the tall, white woman.

She had moved through the fields like a specter. He had not noticed the bundle she carried until she was before him, a haggard countenance; yet still a gentle face that glowed from beneath her dark cloak as she hugged her burden to her. "Kind sir." Her accent was thick and strange. "Protect." She tried to hand him the bundle of blankets and he backed away. In desperation, she placed it at his feet between the stacks of barley. He remembered the word she spoke, because it was said with such agony of mind: "Ngyarwa!" She was gone.

He had had a mind to walk away and continue with his count as though he had no curiosity to know what was in the bundle. He had known enough to perceive a responsibility was given him, though he had not agreed to take it. Impatient with his own misfortune, he had lifted the wrap from her face, and his heart was hers from that moment forward. He had brought the baby home to his mother, leaving her during the day. He had doted upon her, the sweet babe; and, to his amazement, she had thrived. His mother had named her Nivea, after procuring a little goat's milk to feed her. "Look, Agmund. Her skin is so white the milk looks yellowed beside her cheek. She is white as snow. 'Nivea', Agmund. 'Nivea' is her name."

He had been a reeve then, but gave up his place and his home to keep his master from knowing of the child with the skin and look of her so unlike the Kyndciant. He became a peddler, sometimes traveling the King's road to trade goods in the villages on market day; sometimes traversing boundaries to request the honor of an audience with a laird or steward of the household of a nobleman. He had had no confidence in his own ability to provide for his mother and the child in his new occupation. It had been difficult for them the first twelvemonth, but then the child had learned to walk and talk. Her presence became more entrancing to him and their fortune changed. He found he could persuade others to do his bidding whether they were receptive to his wishes or not. He had become bold and, seeing his talent for deception, took to applying his new skill to sorcery in the market place. He found he could easily come away with one or two items that brought in twice as much coin from the lady of a great manor as the plain cloth he plied.

Yet, they had ever been on their guard, ready to disappear when too many questions were asked about his person or those who traveled with him. They had to be certain that no one suspected Nivea was not a Kynd. No one in Abbon Dwin looked kindly upon an outsider, especially one of the Nayar race - of which he believed Nivea to be in his heart of hearts. The Nayar were giants and were known to treat the Kyndciant like vermin. In recent years there had been the threat of another war with the Nayar tribe, the Yareil.

Nivea was worth it all. He had despaired of his life before she had appeared. He had never been a father, yet had known the anticipation of such a proud moment. His son had been stillborn, having been taken from his dying wife. Something in his empty breast had changed when the white child had entered it.

He opened his eyes as the tears filled them. The card he held was almost dropped in his astonishment. For, there upon it was his Nivea, calmly looking at him with her luminous eyes, unmoving. This Nivea was a young woman, no longer the child of four. In the portrait, Nivea's hands were folded across her middle in a solemn and regal manner. On her head rested a crown. Immediately, he realized that this portrait and the golden one he had seen were two of the Queens he had held in his hands days before. As he continued to take in the picture, he espied something which caused his heart to quicken. It was the tapestry hanging behind her figure, one he had noticed in Malafiegr's throne room. The cream-gold hanging with the strange crest of seven silver spears shooting upward was intertwined with a vine of the palest blue.

"No!" he yelled until he was hoarse. He threw the card from him, determined to destroy it. Before he could do so, the flame from the candle rose up. The yellow-green tongues spread out in finger-like paths, racing around the circumference of the room. The blaze was surrounding the room rapidly; the heat that engulfed the chamber was unbearable. He made to escape, but the fire was between him and the door. Calming himself so that he could think, he exhaled a steady flow of air. As the air escaped his lips, the fire eased and was tamed. Gradually, the path of the flame vanished completely. This display terrified the man to his very core. He opened the door to his cell. "Is there anyone to hear me?" he called out in his fear, but no one answered.

* * *

The door to the dark cell creaked open a tiny slit, and something slid along the earthen floor of the chamber. Heta sat up, trying to extract her arm from underneath her brother's head. He stirred and whimpered. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," returned Heta, crawling toward the noise of the door. She could see nothing in the darkness, and was surprised when her hand touched a sponge-like substance on the floor. "Willifric!" she screamed almost hysterically.

"What? What is it?"

"Cake! It is cake!" She pressed the bread-like substance into her mouth and chewed. She felt her brother's hand hit her back in his attempt to find the cake. She grasped his wrist and placed the food within. They both ate noisily for many minutes. It seemed that there was enough to fill twenty children. It was spiced and heavy, and left their throats dry. Willifric began to choke and cough.

"Is there drink?" he asked.

Heta felt around the floor near the doorway. "No." Her hand touched the door just as a lump of cake expanded in her throat. It left no room for air; she could not breathe! She banged upon the door in fright. She could not cry out, but halted when she heard the gagging sound behind her. Her brother was struggling, as well. Again she flung her fists upon the door, begging to be heard. Someone, someone must help!

A ball of light flashed in the center of the room, growing larger and larger. The woman with the green eyes appeared before them. Her hand clasped the bowl of a goblet of glowing yellow liquid. Though Heta suffered, she did not reach out to take it.

Willifric, who was turning blue, took it willingly. He drank the potion within. The sorceress stepped in front of her brother, blocking Heta's vision of him as the cup was placed before her. "Drink or you will die," the enchantress told her simply.

Heta took the cup. Just as the liquid began to pass down her throat, the sorceress's cloak moved away, uncovering her brother's form. He was lying flat against the floor, his eyes closed as though in death. The drink began to roll through her like thick syrup, so hot it was cold as it traveled to her chest and hardened there. She was breathing, but she couldn't catch her breath all at once. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was her brother's eyes swiftly open; they glowed with an eerie yellow light.

* * *

"My betrothed, it is time." Malafiegr's voice spoke into the magician's mind, and he opened the door to find the stone stair waiting.

He reached the throne room and found a large conflagration was in the midst of the hall, which glowed green, pale yellow, and white. He stared at it in fear. Had she brought forth that burst of flame into his chamber only hours before? He backed away, terrified of the blaze. The light of the flames reflected off Malafiegr's onyx skin, which seemed as smooth and impermeable as the seat of the dark blue throne behind her. As the enchantress stood beside the fire, he noticed something glittered, dangling from her fingers. The flame licked the stone as it hung above the green fire. Suddenly the magician felt his frame heat up. His skin felt as though it were burning. He gasped, and watched, immobile, as the stone floated from Malafiegr's fingertips into the center of the fire. Now the flames were scorching him. He began to hunch down; he felt as though he were melting.

"Stand, Kynd. Stand and bear it!" He felt a force pull him upwards. He was upright, his face twisted in agony. He could not speak; he could not think. Distantly he perceived that he was walking toward the flame. He could not fight the movements of his legs; his limbs were not his own.

From the corner of his eye he watched Malafiegr transform as he drew closer to the fire. She was feeding the flame with colors which raced from her lips. Her figure became opalescent gray, but for her silver veil of hair and large green eyes. Her eyes seemed to grow bigger, and he could see the fire reflected in them. He closed his eyes as his figure was taken by the flames. He was destroyed. She was destroying him. He boiled and spewed from the inside. He did not know pain; he did not know anything. All awareness was lost, and then he was dreaming.

He was walking toward a door that glowed. It was a pale green light, and the knowledge of its color halted him. "Walk on, Tholke," Malafiegr cajoled. "Live, my husband."

He did not walk forward, but resisted. "You will die, Tholke. You will die. Now walk to me."

The pain rushed upon him. He was bleeding and melting, writhing. He ran forward out of pure panic, pushing through the green light that fell on him like daggers of ice.

"Yr Faere neter-diffrwy dnalis dlaet ii'neter-Canopba yr Kynd." He heard the language reverberate through his mind and knew its meaning, "This Faere without power reclaims it through this Kynd." Suddenly a force swept through him, affecting him as though he were the iron ring through which the rope was lashed to the main brace of a ship's sail during a torrential storm. The power whipped through him as he tried to hold on, trying to control it with the strength she had exercised within him through the use of the enchanted card. It stretched him more; the force of it exhausted his faculties. Yet, still he panicked and tried to grasp hold of his senses again.

"Let it flow through you." The words were spoken close to him and he opened his eyes. He was looking into Malafiegr's. The flames, now inside him, were still reflected in hers. He reached out to her and espied his skin; charred and burned on the surface, the power within glowing beneath. He resisted in his mind and, again, felt the whiplash of the force going through him.

"You must learn to contain it, Tholke." He looked up at the creature before him.

"I can't," he thought.

"You must, my husband." Her lips were immobile. "Now kiss me."

He was moving toward her without any resistance. He knew if he did, the force would beat his mind again. Would the power running through him never cease? He felt numbed with the exertion. He touched his burnt lips to hers and felt the flood within him abate. He watched as the essence flooded into her face; the mixture of colors colliding. The force was leaving him; as the power left him, he lost consciousness once more.

Malafiegr allowed her husband's frame to drop to the floor. "You have much work before you, my lord." His prostrate body lay in a heap. "That was only my own power you held for a few moments."

She spoke the words of the ancient tongue into the room and Tholke lifted his head. His eyes opened, glittering. They were Kynd-shaped eyes, but green as the Queen's. From his mouth came the words which Malafiegr commanded his mind to speak, "Dnalis ob hepsitem yr Kynd." She lifted his body with a movement of her hand and it hovered above the floor. The scorched flesh began to restore itself.

"We must add to that power to take on the daughters of Maithe. Mmmm… youth. While power consumes, youth is the sustenance upon which it must feed. We will share it soon, my husband. Soon."

Again she commanded. The unconscious body arose to stand and return to the room where Tholke would rest.

* * *

**A/N: A Faere can create a lifebond with what is called the Faere kiss. Malafiegr is using it on the magician to direct him as a 'vessel.' More info in later chapters.**

Nayar Translation:

Ngyarwa ('Ngvor-woh) means "I go."

Faere Translation:

"Tholke" – alien/foreign vessel.

"Dnalis ob hepsitem yr Kynd" - "Reclaim/restore entirely the body/form of this Kynd."

Pronunciation Guide:

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Nayar – No-vor'

Yareil - Vor-ee-ale'

Tholke – Thul'-kye


	8. Words from the Sea

Chapter 8 – Words from the Sea

(_The Evening two days before the King's Feast_)

Reygul ran out into the dusk. She had put her nurse to sleep again and laughed to herself. She was never allowed out when it was dark. The creatures of the forest were on the prowl then, but Reygul loved the danger of it. She had no playmate, no confidante. Her mother was only amused with the secrets of magic. Reygul liked magic, but only when she wasn't forced to practice it. Her mother was always making her try enchantments over and over again. Sometimes she wanted to scream at her. Sometimes she wanted her mother to smile and say she was pleased. Tonight she wanted to run away. She wanted to run to the edge of the cliff and jump into that lovely swirling water and foam. She contented herself just to peer over the steep jutting rock and gaze upon its aquamarine glints. The foam was thick tonight. She watched as it moved into lovely shapes. Once she thought she saw a face in it that smiled up at her. It made her laugh, but it didn't change for so long that it scared her. She considered running to tell Nurse. But she didn't. Reygul hated the old woman with red hair and skin, tattered cap, and silent slippers whom she called Nurse. She knew Nurse was under her mother's spell, just like all the rest. That was why she liked the sea so much. It wasn't told what to do by the Queen; it did what it wanted. It was restless tonight. The waves of the shore crashed and fomented on the rocks far below. Then Reygul heard it: singing. It was almost a whisper, and the melody of it clung to the motions of the waves' rhythm.

She concentrated hard on it. What pretty music! "Where is the man?" it asked her.

"Where is the man?

We will play a game.

Find the man and bring him.

Find him and bring him.

He will play the game."

'Man?' Reygul thought to herself. She hung over the edge of the cliff between the two rocks where she was hidden. "What man?" she whispered to the ocean below.

"Why, you know the man.

You know the man.

He will play the game.

He is in the keep.

Go and look inside.

He will play the game."

"Husband?" Reygul asked again, recalling the words of her mother.

"See, you know the man.

Go and find the man.

He will play the game.

Take the stairs beneath the hall.

The stairs beneath the great hall.

He will play the game."

"I know the man!" she almost shouted, and looked delightedly out at the water.

"Shhh, my little one.

Hush and find the man.

We will play the game.

Bring the man and quickly.

Bring him and quickly.

He will play the game."

"But she might see me," answered Reygul, hovering behind the rocks still.

"Say the magic words then.

The words "Ob siruuen"

We will play the game.

She will never see you.

She will never see him.

He will play the game."

Reygul closed her eyes and concentrated. Her mother always said to concentrate, but she had never taught her these words before. It would be fun to see if it worked. "Ob siruuen" Reygul whispered.

* * *

Tholke was dreaming of a golden field with flecks of brilliant yellow leaves that flitted down from the dome of the blue sky above. He looked around him; he was in a tranquil place. In the center of the field he saw a bundle all in white, a bundle just like the one which had held Nivea over three years ago. He went toward it eagerly, hoping to find his little gift there. As he neared the bundle, he noticed another figure drawing near it as well. He halted and readied himself to flee; the figure approaching he thought to be Malafiegr's. He stepped back and found a tall bush to hide behind. He grasped the branches and found them very cold and smooth to his touch. He watched as the woman with shining black skin knelt down beside the bundle. Her timid movements made him question his assumption, and he peered through the twisted branches to gaze upon her. She was not Malafiegr, though she resembled the enchantress. Her hair was metallic pale azure; her eyes were large drops of blue. She picked up the bundle, holding it close to her. Slowly her gaze perambulated over the field. He inhaled swiftly as she stared right at him. Something knocked against his back, and he turned to find an amber stone, like the stone he had seen the giant Yar of the mountain give the Queen. Next to the tear-shaped stone, hung another like it, and another, and another. He was surrounded by the stones hanging from the strange silver trees. He turned back to the Faere in the center of the field. She knelt with the bundle shielded from him. She was still looking at him; he felt her fear and dread. Her eyes looked away, and he followed her gaze. The stones were glowing now. All around her were the same silvery-white trees with amber pendants glowing. The stones began to move, to sway for a moment; then they all pointed to her as though she were a magnetic force drawing them. She raised herself and spun around, looking for a way out. Tholke heard a distant 'ping' and watched as a freed stone directed itself at her with increasing speed. She turned the bundle away and took the hit in the back. From different corners of the field the 'pings' reverberated and the stones came flying for her. She tried to dodge them by running, constantly striving to protect the bundle in her hands from being hit. There was nowhere she could go. The metal trees had grown up around her as a hedge and they were continuing to shoot up, skyward. Tholke watched as the woman ran and ran, never stopping, never a moment's reprieve. He wanted to help her, to pull her out of that prison of metallic branches. But he was barred from getting in as much as she was barred from getting out. He did the one thing he knew to do: he reached forward through the branches and grasped one of the stones striving to be loosed from its limb. The tree was growing upward and inward. The branches would soon ensnare his wrist with the rapid growth. Yet, the silver thread holding the glowing stone would not break away from the branch! He pulled and pulled with all his might, and, giving one last forceful yank in desperation, was able to extract one stone from hurling itself at the imprisoned woman. He held it in his grasp and felt the cuts where the thin, sharp metal thread had sliced his palm in his attempts to extract it. But he would not open his hand to allow the stone to go pelting back through the small cracks between the branches.

He felt someone grab his arm and shake him. He turned and saw Nivea. She smiled, and the dream of the trees faded behind him. She was still shaking his arm. "Kynd!" she said. But it wasn't her voice. She wouldn't call him 'Kynd;' she did not yet know the difference in their races. He opened his eyes, sat up quickly, and looked around the empty room. He was lying on his pallet and his hand hurt. He splayed his hand and noticed the thin streaks of fresh blood on his palm. He did not have time to consider this, though. Something gripped his forearm again.

'Kynd!' the little voice said.

"Who's there?" he cried out backing against the wall in fear. He saw nothing, but the small fingers had felt very real.

"It's me. I am hiding. Say, 'Ob siruuen' and you can hide, too! You can play the game with me."

"Show yourself!" demanded Tholke, trying to muster courage.

"I can't. I don't know the words. But the sea told me the words to hide from her and find you!"

"Who are you?" Tholke asked, clearly believing he was insane.

"Reygul," the voice answered simply. "You are Husband; she told me."

"Who told you?" Tholke knew the answer.

"The Queen, Malafiegr jylo, of course. You are dumb." The voice paused briefly then questioned, "Are you going to play the game?"

"What game?"

Again there was a pause. "I don't know. The water told me to bring you and you would play." He didn't know what to say and sat there without answering the empty room. Suddenly he felt something strike his arm and the girl's voice said with frustration, "You're no fun. I don't want to play with you. Husbands are dumb."

Something about the weak force of that swat stirred something in Tholke. "I'll try. Tell me the words again." He repeated the Faere words, hardly believing, and looked down to find he could no longer see the blood on his hand. He couldn't see his hand at all!

"Come with me," ushered Reygul, grabbing at his arm and missing before she tried again. She pulled him to the door. Looking out, he found the old passageway. She was pulling him toward a wall.

"What are you doing?" he asked her. "There is no way to get out."

"Yes there is: the stairs!" she told him matter-of-factly. Still she pulled him toward the wall, and still he resisted.

"There's a wall there."

"It is only a spell," she told him. "Close your eyes. I will take you." He did as she told him, and felt his foot hit the stone step. Now he could see the steps before him.

"Shhh!" the girl whispered. "We must be quiet when we pass her chamber. She is working on a great curse!"

He was amazed to find that he saw the large, ornate door as they passed it. They were walking quickly and yet their steps made no sound as Reygul hurried Tholke into a run, twisting and turning through the corridors through which the girl guided him. Down a long hallway he espied a figure slumped over in a chair. As they drew near, Tholke found it was an old woman of his race snoring heavily. He thought to question Reygul, but kept silent. The girl did not, though. She giggled slightly as they slipped out a door into the evening's cool breeze. The lovely waft of sea air was a balm of great refreshing to Tholke. He had felt as though he would never see or know anything resembling his former world again. And, though he was not familiar with the sea itself, he knew the sky and the air well.

"I have brought him!" Reygul yelled giddily to the wind about them. Her hand on his arm pulled him toward a patch of black rocks and took him to the edge. He pulled away from his guide, cautious of being near such a steep precipice.

"I have brought him!" Reygul reiterated more quietly this time.

"Is someone here?" Tholke asked aloud, and felt that he had given way to hope without knowing it.

"Shhh! Listen."

He listened and heard the clamor of the waves upon the rocks below. He waited, unsure of what this little invisible imp was playing at.

"Do you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"The singing!" He listened and Reygul told him, impatiently, "She says you must hear her before we can play the game."

"I'm trying, but-," Tholke whispered back, but stopped. The slightest tinkle had caught his ear and he concentrated.

"You have come to play

You will want to play

Listen to my words

These are words to help you

These are words to guide you

Then you can play the game."

"'Words to help you'," he repeated to Reygul. "I hear them."

Reygul let out a squeal of glee. "Now we can play!" she said.

But the child-like melody of the sea ended. And now the sea sang a new low tune.

"Guard your mind.

Do not let her in.

She is coming for them.

You must get to them.

Guard your mind.

You must save them!"

The last of the sea's words were spoken sharply.

"Kynd. What is the game? I want to play. I don't understand." Tholke felt the hand of the child groping to find his arm again.

"I don't understand, either."

"Take the road beside you.

The rocks are treacherous.

Step lightly and climb down.

You must save them!"

"This way!" Reygul directed excitedly as she continued to hold Tholke's hand.

"Be careful!" he cautioned. "It is too steep."

"Yes," answered the sea.

"It is too steep.

Tell the child, 'Sauvlenun.'"

Tholke felt the little hand grip his own tightly.

"No!" the voice beside him screamed. "That is what I said to Nurse! I want to play. I don't want to sleep."

"Do it," commanded the sea. But Tholke did not respond. Reygul was holding his hand in both of hers now and had stopped pulling him.

"I don't like it. The voice is bad. It is wrong. Don't listen." He could hear the tears of disappointment and fear in her voice.

Something in him melted with the pleading strains of this unseen child. He told her. "I will not say the words." He felt her begin to push him back up the mountain to the door of the castle. "But," he continued, "you must do as I do. We will play the game how we like."

"Yes!" came the gleeful response. And the pushing stopped and the pulling commenced as they moved down the side of the rock again.

"Foolish Kynd. She will not help you."

"I will! I will!" answered Reygul. "He is my - Husband is my pet."

Tholke told the sea. "We will save them together."

"Guard your mind, Kynd.

Or she will know you are coming."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: What are your impressions of Reygul?**

Faere Translation:

"Ob siruuen" means: Entirely/completely conceal. (It also conceals the spoken word. Reygul and Tholke are speaking telepathically. So is the sea.)

Pronunciation Guide:

Reygul - Ray'-gul

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Malafeigr - Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Kynd – Kend

Yar - Vor


	9. Vengeance

Chapter 9 – Vengeance

"How do I guard my mind?" Tholke asked the sea, as he allowed Reygul to choose the path with her small steps.

"I know," whispered Reygul. "You must use your token and put everything you think there."

"My token?"

"Don't you have a token?" Reygul asked and stopped walking.

"No."

"Oh, yes. You are just a Kynd; you don't have any magic." The arrogant condescension in Reygul's voice irritated him.

"You have power, Kynd.

You are the vessel of her power.

She knows your thoughts,

When she wants them;

And you know hers."

"Whose power? Who are you talking about?" Reygul questioned the sea.

Tholke knew and suddenly understood why the sea had told him to cause the child to sleep. Reygul did not understand that whatever this task was, it was something in opposition to her mother's plans. Yet, Tholke would not go back on his word. His emotions for his Nivea had somehow endeared him in mere moments to the unseen child beside him. They reached an impasse; the small cliff extended away from the rest of the mountain and they could go no further.

"The cave is beneath you," instructed the sea. For some time Tholke stood on the jutting rock and Reygul clung to him. He had no understanding of what was expected.

"Transport yourself to the rock below," the sea advised.

"I can't do that," Reygul said sadly. "She tells me I am not good enough to do it," the child explained, speaking of Malafiegr.

Still, Tholke stood and considered. "I do not understand," he finally conceded, having admitted to himself that he was not capable of this task.

"Close your eyes;

Picture yourself thereon."

He did as the sea instructed and, when he opened his eyes, he found the ground of the lower level beneath his feet. Reygul was still clinging to his arm.

"The portal is behind you," instructed the sea.

He peered into the ominous opening of the cave. Again he considered turning back.

"Oh, I don't like it," whispered Reygul, and he felt her little hand grow cold in his grasp.

"Is there another way?" he inquired of the sea.

"Kynd, it is the only way!

You must hurry!

Follow the forks

To the left until you reach the gate.

Take the path

To the right of the gate.

The tide comes.

I will follow it."

Tholke felt the panic rise within him.

"Keep silence at the gate.

Do not wake the sleeping one!"

He felt his spine tingle as he entered with slow steps. He halted. "You should not go with me, Reygul. In fact, I should not go. I will take you back instead."

"Coward!" came the reproach from the frothy liquid below.

"You must help them!

They are children imprisoned.

They are Kyndciant blood!

Great harm will come to them."

Something in the sea's words caught his attention. "Children?" he returned. "Children imprisoned?"

"I have heard their cries:

The cries of the boy.

The cries of the girl.

Hasten to help them!"

His mind flashed back to the card he had stared upon the day before: A boy and a girl and the knave who carried them.

"Reygul, you cannot go," he told the child. He felt her release his hand.

"I don't want to go in there," the small voice whispered.

"She will be safe.

Go, before it is too late!" the sea answered him.

Tholke's heart thumped rapidly as he approached the third fork. The deeper he went into the labyrinth of this cave, the more his courage failed him. All was darkness, except for a light which glowed and dimmed at intervals like fragments of sparks shooting through the corridors. A thin stream of water was threading its way through the passage and Tholke kept himself from treading it, believing that his footsteps might be heard. In the forefront of his mind was the picture he had seen on the card: the knave with the boy and girl. He felt in the pouch of his shirt unconsciously, and his hand went around the thin rectangular piece there. It comforted him; he focused his mind on pushing away the thoughts of what he was attempting. Immediately they seemed to rush into the background, as though a heavy burden was taken from him. He still knew his task, vaguely – even complacently – perceiving it. It did not make him cringe now and he continued forward. In sixty more paces the gate was before him. He could see that this gate was an elaborately carved drawbridge, similar in design to the roof of the great hall. It barred a region even darker than the walls of the cave around him. None of the strange light was refracted there. A hot, rank odor met his nostrils from that foreboding hollow. He wondered what type of being lived beyond that disused barrier. It caused him to tiptoe into the passage to the right, willing to create distance between him and that sealed abode.

The passage forked again, and a strange sound met his ears. It was coming from behind him. For a fleeting moment, he thought it might be the creature within the gate, but realized it was the moan of the wind trapped in the winding passages, desperate for an outlet. The fierce, salty gust almost lifted him bodily, and he heard the words whip around as the gale passed:

"To the right now, Kynd.

And do not touch the door.

She will know."

As he took the last passage, which was quickly filling with seawater, he perceived that he was walking up an incline. The walls of the cave were not as dank as he proceeded upward, and the strange light did not flash over them as it had in the maze of the cave below. Yet, his path was pitch-black before him. He halted, trying to feel his way forward. His eye glimpsed a pale yellow light, dim but perceptible, and he followed it to a wooden door lodged in the side of the wall. He reached out to touch it; but, remembering the words in the wind, he pulled back.

The glowing embers of light inside escaped in shafts from the frame of the doorway, as though whatever was within was waiting to be loosed. Doubt flooded him as he considered his task. Why had he listened to the voice from the water? Was he truly awakened or was this another strange dream? Something told him the truth of this quest. There were children in this room and he had to get to them. How could he enter therein without touching the door? He grasped the card tighter in his hand, and it seemed to take the thoughts from him. He took the card from his pocket, hoping to look upon it, to perceive some answer on its face. A weak, dull glow emerged where his hand, still invisible, should have been. But he could not see the card. In his desperation, he began to squeeze the card with his uninjured hand. He felt it drop to the floor, and it appeared before the base of the door. Without thinking, he reached out to take it, and it slid under the crack beneath the wooden barrier. A cry of frustration almost left him as he went down on his knees and tried to reach the card. He could see a small portion of the floor of the cell where it was lying. He summoned the card and it flipped up to come to him, only to be hampered by the base of the door. It glowed, and on its face he was able to make out a picture of a figure standing on a white rectangle.

It was then that the idea came to him to transport himself as he had done outside the cave. He closed his eyes and tried to envision his feet planted on the card. At once, he found he was in the cell standing between two children lying on their backs upon the floor. Eerily, the eyes of both children were open and the yellow light he had seen from the corridor radiated from them. He bent down to the boy, Willifric, whom he remembered from the village. He felt repentant for the trick he had played on the child. He lifted the boy's head slowly, noticing that the eyes were shaped like Nivea's now, glowing amber. He picked up the boy and hoisted him upon his shoulder. The hollow-sounding clank of an object hit the floor, but it was too dark for Tholke to perceive what had fallen. While carrying the boy, he approached the girl. He perceived her to be older, taller, and heavier. As he set the boy down, Willifric's unconscious body reappeared. Tholke considered how he could carry them both. He thought of the picture from the card and walked over to gaze upon it, knowing that if he touched it, it would not be visible. The card glowed, but was blank.

He willed for the picture to appear, and it did. He looked closely at the children on the knave's back and ascertained that the arms of the children were somehow joined to wrap around his neck. He picked up the card, which became only a dim white glow again, and searched for something to use with which to bind. With the small light, he searched the corners of the room. At first all he found were crumbs of some sort of bread, an empty goblet, and the two children now lying side by side; but he soon found the object which had been in Willifric's possession and fallen to the floor: a makeshift instrument of hollow reeds bound together with twine. The reeds disappeared in his possession; but he concentrated and succeeded in untying the twine, the hollowed shoots dropping to the floor. He began his work of joining the children's arms. Having gotten thus far, he stuffed his card into his pocket and tried again to hoist the children on his back, securing the limp arms around his neck. He knew they were cloaked in his spell because the eerie yellow glow vanished, leaving the room in utter darkness.

In his haste to leave the room, he reached out and touched the door. He knew her eyes were awakened and staring through his own. He closed his eyes and transported himself into the corridor, too panicked to realize how instinctively the task had been accomplished. He had begun his descent down the incline of the passage leading into the cave, when he heard her voice behind him, around him, inside his head.

"My husband, where are you?"

He tried to hurry forward, tripping over his own feet in the darkness. His feet noiselessly entered the water of the rising current and were hindered by it; he was doubled over by the burden he carried. He felt her presence within him, angrily searching his mind for his whereabouts.

The wind was howling loudly ahead of him, and he could make out some other sound that brought him to a stop; he stared forward into the darkness, trying to see what was ahead.

"Tholke! What have you done!" screamed the enchantress' voice in his head. He groaned and thought he would faint from the force of it upon his senses. He moved onward again as quickly as he could, almost in a run; his calves deep in the pool of water beneath him, hampering his escape. The water came in floods now; reaching his knees, his thighs, his waist. He could not hesitate; he must seek refuge in the current. He attempted to walk forward, overcome with the burden he carried.

"You dare to steal from me. I can destroy you, Kynd." He knew she was behind him now and could not resist the instinct to look back. A flash of electric green light streaked through the corridor toward him, and he threw himself under the water. A force like no other he had ever felt tore around him. It was a wave; a powerful rush that lifted him with his burden, as though lighter than air, and carried him into the cave beyond.

"Lorelei!" shrieked Malafiegr, as she watched a mass of foam shoot out from the oncoming crash of water to swallow the spell the queen of Naut had sent forth from her scepter. The foam was engulfed in the wave, as though sucked under. "I would banish you to the depths of the earth," the enchantress spat out.

"Ah, but you cannot," came the sing-song voice, as though mocking her.

"Nothing can you do to me."

"You take some small pleasure now but I will have my revenge!" threatened Malafiegr.

There was no answer, infuriating the sorceress all the more.

* * *

**A/N: Malafiegr has underestimated the abilities of her Kyndciant mate. But, will he really escape? And what is happening to the children?**

Pronunciation Guide:

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Reygul - Ray'-gul

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Lorelei - Lor'-ah-lye


	10. Alone in the Forest

Chapter 10 – Alone in the Forest

Arisdona awoke to find a lady-in-waiting holding a translucent hand, the limp fingers of which gripped a spherical white object, the Queen's Faere token. She could tell by the noise of the iron hinges on the door that a servant had just been dispatched to notify the king that she had awakened.

It was still night, she judged. Her lady's countenance evinced a piteous expression. Arisdona wished to ask what had happened. She was aware of the room and the servants surrounding her, but she could not feel nor react. The Kyndciant nurse spoke, "You have been spared this night, milady."

Just as she finished the words, with no further explanation of the matron's meaning, Arisdona heard the hinges of the door swing forward with great force. Her husband entered the room swiftly. "She is awake?" he asked with eyes of terror and hope. She could tell from his features that he was greatly troubled. He looked a veritable lion with his thick, unkempt hair, but it was the look he gave her as he reached her side that frightened her the most. It was the aftermath of utter despair.

"Oh Dona, Dona!" he cried, taking her into his arms. She heard the token fall to the floor, but could not feel his embrace, could not whisper a single word. He pulled away and pleaded, "Speak to me, precious one!"

"Your majesty," a voice spoke behind the king, and Arisdona knew it was the ambassador, Aaliristo. "She hasn't the strength."

Arisdona watched as the king lifted himself from the bed and Aaliristo stepped forward. "I beg your pardon, Queen Arisdona," he said, as he took the liberty of picking up her hand and therein placing the sphere which he had retrieved from the floor. Now she understood that hers was the gray, transparent-seeming hand which held her token! The shining black of the ambassador's arm contrasted with her dead-looking limb. "Your majesty," Aaliristo directed the king.

She watched as Exlir bent his head to touch her lips to his own. She felt the power, and the Kyndciant King's eyes glittered with the energy of the race she had shared with him as her mate. She drank in the essence of the Faere. She realized that her body was like her child's at that moment; she was too weak to draw her own energy and must be strengthened by the reserves of her power within her husband.

Her first words, as the magic flooded through her, returning her visage to the marble ebon of her race, was, "My _lei_: my babe!"

* * *

Tholke awoke, washed up on the land. He had no remembrance of how he had come there, but recalled the reason for his unconsciousness. He sat up and noted that he was visible again. He looked about him for the children he had rescued. Not ten meters from his place were the two, huddled together and still unconscious. They looked to be sleeping peacefully, until he turned them over and saw their vacantly staring eyes. The eyes continued to glow until Tholke moved his hand to close the lids.

He was not familiar with his surroundings. In the distance high above he perceived the spiked turrets of the black castle of Naut and it made him shiver. He ascertained that the water had carried them some distance from the mount into a bay within the kingdom of Abbon Dwin. He knew that the lake of Lorelei bordered the King's Forest, a natural boundary between it and the kingdom of Connara. It was midday and the sun was relentless upon the open land near the water's edge. He could not leave the children there to face the elements unattended. He must hide them! He hoisted them onto his back and began to enter the forest.

He walked for miles until his legs and back could take no more. The burden was too much for him; the children grew heavier with every step. He settled them against a fallen tree trunk and rested. He wondered how far he could go before night fell. He knew not his destination, but felt at ease. In his mind had sprung the hope that he was freed, loosed from the Queen of Naut's endless night. He would search for Nivea and his mother. He would find them and they would flee the kingdom, traveling toward the mountainous east. He would separate himself as far from Malafiegr as he could contrive. Even now he felt her emotions within him; she was impatient, restless, searching. His hand went immediately to his pocket and extracted the card. His powerlessness told itself as the card flickered weakly in his hand. But he had been given a glimpse. The picture he had wished to see had been there for a twinkling: his Nivea. It bolstered him; he took the children onto his back and began again.

Tholke traveled all the day until his legs could push no more. It astonished him that he had trekked so far. Yet, he had seen nothing, no house, no one. The animals he had glimpsed had scattered and left him to his burden. The dusk was settling over the terrain when Tholke set the children beneath an old tree. Its twisted roots invited, and he placed the children in a cranny at the base. He needed rest. He could think again once he gave himself reprieve from his toil.

A raven had circled in the sky above him twice that day. He had hidden from the bird; Malafiegr was searching. He knew her power lay in other creatures as well as in him now. He could feel its eye roving over the tops of the trees; it was as though Malafiegr stared straight through the eyes of the bird. He began to realize that he would not be able to return to his family. Even if he could escape the queen of the forest for a season, she would always find him. She felt his presence as much as he felt hers. This magic, this energy within him, was so much more than the trickery he had toyed with only days ago. Why had he dabbled in such terrible power? He had only known the tinges of such force before meeting Malafiegr. He hated to admit it, but he now perceived the power Nivea held. It was within her, and she had bestowed a meager portion upon him whom she loved. That much he understood of the traits of the magic now. He wondered if he might find his child, if he might know of her presence as he knew Malafiegr's.

He tried to concentrate on her and a shock, like that of a bolt of lightning, raced through him. He felt Malafiegr's eyes upon him immediately. He had unwittingly opened his mind to the one he least wished to find him.

"Tholke, return!" she screamed wrathfully in his head. When he did not respond, she threatened. "Return to me, Kynd or I will unleash my servant upon you."

Tholke's first reaction was to recall Fieran. Malafiegr preyed upon this mental image. "You fear a simple beast, Kynd. I have many servants fiercer. You have one chance, Tholke. Return to me or you will wish you'd died at the mercy of Fieran."

* * *

"Oma, why are we leaving before Papa has returned?" Nivea asked softly as she watched her grandmother tie a large sack onto the back of the mule. The darkness was settling over the land.

"It is not safe here, child," the old woman said quietly as she helped the girl onto the back of the beast. The woman secured the brown cloth of the cloak around the legs of the child. It was becoming too short for her; she was so tall. The woman sighed, noting how the cloak contrasted with the girl's white skin. The cloak just reached the woolen stockings tied with coarse thread to keep them up around Nivea's chubby ankles.

She tucked back a strand of the silken black hair into the confines of the hood. The red hood, sewn to the brown fabric of the cloak and threaded throughout with tuffs of the old woman's own red hair, was tied snugly over the child's head. She stood back from the girl and perused her.

Then she lifted herself onto the beast, looking about hopefully. No cart was to be seen along the road. What had happened to her son? He had been gone for days! She felt the danger of his absence. She had promised him that she would flee with Nivea if she had felt anything amiss; but she had waited, expecting him to return.

She nudged the mule and the animal ambled forward slowly. They would travel until they reached the city, Bestestueck, for which Agmund had set out four days ago. Perhaps they might find rest and food there for a time before heading farther North to another town. Perhaps her son might still be in a village nearby, and they would be reunited with him before long.

It was the evening of the next day before they came to the gate of the city. Dusk had fallen, and the old woman hid Nivea in the bushes on the brink of the forest a league from the city wall. The child lay under the foliage gratefully, overcome with sleepiness. Summoning the courage to speak to the sentry at the entrance of the walled village, Agmund's mother traversed the open road to the gate. Just as she came to the portcullis, the bell rang forth, signaling the closing of the gate.

"Milord," she addressed the armed man in the darkness.

"Move along," the guard commanded, desiring to be relieved of his post.

"I am looking for a tradesman. He came to ply goods on market day."

"This is not market day, old mutter."

She pursed her lips in frustration. "Did you see a magician? I am looking for Agmund the Magician; he is my son."

The guard laughed. "Perhaps he has disappeared," he answered her sarcastically. He did not wait for her response. "Move along, I said," he demanded and pushed her backwards. Agmund's mother barely caught herself; her movements were slow in her old age. Regaining her balance, she grimaced with the pain that shot up her back as she turned and hobbled away.

She ventured back to Nivea and lay down beside her until she felt she could allow the girl no more rest, awakening her. "We must go deeper into forest before the daylight finds us, my dear."

The quiet child obeyed, allowing her grandmother to settle her upon the back of the mule again. The woman led the animal into the trees. They wended their way slowly for a time before she announced with short breaths, "This is… good enough… rest here…'til light."

Nivea gently placed a soft sack beneath her grandmother's head. The woman's eyes closed as she patted the girl's knee. "Sleep child," she told her.

But Nivea was not sleepy. Something had stirred within her; something familiar, yet unknown. Her eyes wandered over the region of leaf and trunk, earth and sky. She breathed in and drank of the air and energy around her. It was different to her, yet she did not comprehend why. She looked upon the sleeping woman beside her and began to lie down as well when a noise reached her ear.

It was a gentle rustling. She sat up again and fixed her eyes on the direction whence it came. She could see nothing, but not because it was dark. Verily, she could see better in the darkness than in the daylight. The noise was many leagues from her yet. Something within told her the presence was a familiar thing, something ancient. But she did not trust the intuition; it had been the first time a sense such as this had touched her.

She stood and walked toward the sound only a few paces; enough that she might look deep into the heart of the trees and undergrowth. She perceived that the presence felt her, too. It was hurrying toward her now. She waited there, unwilling to be out of sight of her guardian, yet curious.

Then she saw it: a low, dark form approaching on all fours. Nivea recoiled in shock and would have turned and flown back to her Oma. For, verily, its silhouette showed it to be a wolf. But it was too late. She must face it and would not risk its attack upon her grandmother. The animal, having seen her, began to slow its pace. It slunk forward, cautiously; sauntering between the trees, eyeing her hesitantly.

She stood her ground. From her fear came a surge of courage, and something within her reached out to the animal, as though testing it. She knew it was no ordinary wolf. It paused at a clump of brush before stepping forth into the clearing where she stood. As though by design, Nivea stepped back a few paces. Now the trunks of two trees on either side of them gave the impression that four figures, representing the four directions, had come to meet.

"Why do you play here, little girl?" asked the subtle wolf, a cursed creature of the night.

Nivea did not answer, but stared upon him with her foreign, reproachful gaze. The wolf stepped back as an eerie breeze blew through the trees toward him. It confused the beast but he grinned wickedly, his black fangs exposed like shining steel. "It is good that I have another errand this night, or I might be tempted to -,"

The wind blew more gustily upon the wolf and it lowered its head into the rush of it. The branches of the trees on either side bent awkwardly low and whipped themselves at the wolf's eyes.

"You will leave this forest, if you know what is best for you," warned the beast, his eyes glittering with green incandescence. He turned and disappeared into the darkness of the trees. Yet, Nivea watched its retreat vigilantly. It was searching for something, and it had come to her. Nivea would tell Oma that this forest was not good, and that they should not stay here another night.

* * *

**A/N: Little Red Riding Hood meets the wolf.**

Faere Vocab Aid:

"Lei" means: treasured/only offspring.

Pronunciation Guide:

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Aaliristo - A'(like the letter)-al-eh-ris'-toh

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Lei - lye

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Connara – Con'-ner-uh

Malafeigr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Kynd – Kend

Fieran – Fee-air'-un

Bestestueck - Best-es'-too-eck


	11. Forbidden Spring

Chapter 11 – Forbidden Spring

Tholke stood back to admire the object of his toil. Piled high and well-situated, the stones lay before him. They formed a mound that clearly bespoke the work of design. Anyone who came near would notice the structure immediately, eventually finding the boy and girl he had hidden so carefully in that place. He was beside a spring; he had begun his work immediately when he had espied it. It looked to have been used long ago for drawing; certainly someone would visit it soon. It had been his only choice, something was coming for him. With shaking hands he hurried away, aware that he had little time left. He looked behind him once before the stones could be viewed no more and saw a single beam of the sun peek over the horizon, its ray streaming across the mound. Straightway, he charged through the forest, racing past the trees. His own speed amazed him; his strength had increased fourfold when he had ceased to carry the children. He knew he was running faster than any Kynd could run, but it wasn't enough. Her servant had found him. He could feel it gaining and ran forward, terrified to look behind him. He felt the malice of the hunter; he was prey that would be overtaken.

He gave one last sprint and found himself in a clearing. Before him was a lodge, the smoke of a fire inside escaping in wisps from the hole in the thatched roof. From the house, Tholke could make out the silhouette of a man stepping through the doorway at that very hour.

"Ho, there! Hasten to the spring!" he called out to the woodward.

"Who are you?" asked the man from the lodge.

Just as the woodward, Willifus, espied the figure of a man running toward him, he perceived a wolf close behind. The animal ran headlong, wild and famished, and tackled the stranger to the ground.

"Gerta, my ax!" he called out as he watched the Kynd and beast struggle on the ground, feet away from his door. From the ground came a terrible gnashing and he heard the man scream out.

"What do you see?" asked his wife, handing the weapon across the threshold and hiding behind the door.

Willifus advanced toward the wolf, his ax lifted and ready to hew the beast down. The man was no longer moving on the ground, as the creature gazed upon him boldly. The wolf seemed to smile; its eyes glowed unnaturally green-gold in the haze of the approaching light of day. Willifus hesitated; his heart was racing. He watched, transfixed, as the wolf gripped the neck of the lifeless man with its large, black fangs. The creature began to run toward the thick of the forest, dragging the man at a speed that was impossible for it to possess.

When the woodsman came to his senses, he picked up the ax he had unknowingly dropped upon the ground beside him. "Willifus," he heard his wife beckoning from the doorway. "What was the thing?"

The woodsman responded, "No wolf can flee like that."

"What did the man bid you do?"

It was then that Willifus remembered Tholke's words. "He bade me go to the spring."

"Oh, tarry 'til the day has grown, will you not?" Willifus did not respond, but turned inside. Minutes later, he ventured out, accompanied by his servant, a dagger, and the ax.

* * *

"Oma?" Nivea called to the old woman as the sunlight, peeping through the trees, awakened the child. Her grandmother lay next to her, breathing in harsh rasps. The child placed her small palm on the old woman's cheek and felt no heat from the flesh. She knew that something was wrong; Oma must be ill.

"Oma?" she called to her again. But the woman did not answer. She watched her grandmother for many minutes. If only she could help her. She did not know what to do. Suddenly, the shallow breathing stopped. Nivea heard it and screamed shrilly, "Oma!!"

All was silent around her and her guardian, as though the very forest had stilled, waiting. Suddenly Nivea heard something distinctly: a voice. It called out to her. "Heta?" it returned.

Nivea stood up and cried, "Help me! Help me!"

Again the voice returned, "I am coming!" And a little later, with less strength, "I am coming, Heta!"

From the thicket appeared the burly man, Willifus. Seeing a clump on the ground beside a red-haired figure wrapped in a dark cloak, he ran forward, still under the illusion that these were his children and he had found them. It was only when he reached the strangers that his heart dropped in dismay. He looked upon the old woman lying at the foot of the tree, then at the cloaked figure hunched beside her.

"Please… my grandmother. She is sick," the voice of the girl pleaded with the woodsman. He kept his ax beside him as he walked toward the figure lying upon the dried and decaying leaves. He rested the ax on the ground as he bent down to the prone woman.

"Come," he told the child without looking at her. His disappointment could not be contained; his heart still raced with what had been the hopeful anticipation of reuniting with his son and daughter.

"But… I cannot go without Oma."

"I will see to your Oma. You will follow me." With one last glance at the figure motionless upon the forest floor, Nivea followed Willifus. He called out to his servant as they reached a clearing, but the girl had seen the well. She rushed to draw the water from it. Her thirst would hardly be quenched, and she was too intent on the task of drinking to give any heed to the words which passed between the woodward and his servant.

"I have seen nothing amiss here," he told Willifus.

"Then we will journey to the forsaken spring."

The apprehension was evident in the servant's rebuke, "Not Numfverfolgt; it is cursed! It is not to be used. Should we not be advised by the warden-?"

"You may go the way of the kneeling tree. Some twenty paces eastward you will find work." Willifus lowered his voice, though the child was some distance from him. "There is a body to be buried."

"Master, if there is evil here…" The servant's hands shook. Willifus eyed the servant, who plied, "Should not the bewailers be got?"

Willifus' face was stern as he spoke, "Do as I say. The woman was trespassing, no doubt to avail herself of the King's small game. She deserves no better treatment." The servant did not seem convinced, but went as he was commanded.

Willifus had no intention of alerting the trustees of the forest. The king's huntsmen had vowed to make mention of the strange mist surrounding the ominous wall once they returned from their labor; the warden would be alerted. If Willifus were to report this death or the wolf, he was certain the chief justice would be informed. His searches through the heart of the forest would then be forbidden. He would wait a little longer, just a day or so more. He was resolved to find his children; it had been but four days since their disappearance.

The cloaked child came to him from the edge of the water. "I must return to Oma," Nivea told him.

"Your grandmother is gone. She is dead," he said bluntly. He was impatient to leave.

It was then that the large black eyes were brought to his face. His breath was taken from him as he gazed upon the ghostly white skin, the oddly-shaped eyes subtly encased in the red-haired hood. Who was this being? He thought of the wolf-like creature he had seen only hours before and felt distrust for this young girl rise within him.

"Who was the woman you call your Oma?"

Nivea's features expressed confusion. She was deeply disturbed by the woodward's news; something bad had taken her grandmother from her. She did not understand and did not speak.

He lifted his ax upon his shoulder and approached her slowly. "Who are you?"

"Nivea, daughter of Agmund the Peddler – Agmund the Magician some call him."

"I do not know of him, though I daresay a magician is not to be trusted. Where is he?"

"I know not. He went to the city on market day; we waited for him."

"The city, Bestestueck? I saw a magician in Bestestueck. A scoundrel is the better name." He spat upon the ground. The quick movement startled Nivea.

Willifus saw her reaction and was emboldened. "You will come with me to the old spring." As though warning her, he added, "I have more questions to ask of you." He did not give a thought to the pain which must be harbored in her heart. He verily thought her a creature like the wolf; though harmless in comparison, she too must be void of emotion.

Nivea followed the woodward deeper into the forest, through the glades, beyond the aged woodland, overgrown with thorny briars and untamed creepers. Willifus kept his eyes upon the child suspiciously but did not speak to her.

They reached a copse of lush green vegetation. The midday light softly embraced thriving trees and bushes bejeweled with wild blooms. The child's eyes were upon the water; for she was athirst still from the privation of the previous day.

His eyes were upon the newly built mound of rock. "Who would dare construct such a thing?" Willifus spoke aloud in awe.

The girl glanced at the object of the woodward's soliloquy before making her way to the spring to drink. Willifus did not prevent her. He did not care to warn such a being of the forbidden pool.

He approached the heap of stones. His first thought was to disassemble the mound. He slowly began to ascend the hill, losing his footing after only two or three strides. A small heap of pebbles scattered and uncovered a patch of cloth. Willifus reached down to retrieve it only to find it would not be extracted; it was attached to something beneath the stones. His heart began to pound, both in elation and dread. He tried to persuade himself that the fabric did not belong to his son. It was a common thread. He had uncovered more of the material now. He began to dig zealously, his breath coming fast. He peeled the calluses from his knuckles against the boulder beneath in his struggle to unearth the large rock, tugging on the pinioned cloth until he reached a crevice through which the fabric was wedged. He tried to pry the boulder from the one beside it. Whoever had erected this edifice had to have had incredible strength. Even two or three men could not heave this stone without great effort!

"What do you seek?" asked the child behind him.

Willifus could hardly put into words what he desired to find beneath the rock, much less did he mean to speak of his emotions to this white specter of a child. After one more ineffective push, the woodward told Nivea, "I must go for aid. You can remain here or no, it matters not to me." His curiosity with the strange child held no weight with him now; his only object was to unearth what was beneath the heavy boulder.

Nivea dropped her eyes to her feet. She did not like the way the woodsman spoke to her. He made her feel repulsive, though she did not understand this fully. With a blank expression, Nivea watched Willifus depart until he disappeared from her view. Then, as though his departure released something within her, a tear slipped down her face. It was followed by an abundance of drops which slid silently over the smooth white skin. Yet, no sigh, no gasp passed the lips of the child. She knew nothing of her father's whereabouts, and now her grandmother was gone. She was alone and had never known a pain such as this. She rested beside the scattered pebbles at the base of the structure that Tholke had made. She felt her little heart would burst, but these emotions could not be relieved. The droplets of her tears upon the pebbles were the only traces of her despair. Willifus was long in returning, and Nivea laid her head upon the mound, spent by her anguish.

The pebbles gave way to her cloaked head and she found a senseless repose. She closed her eyes and the sorrow ebbed from her tired body. She had not rested well the night before; her weary mind had continued to reach out into the surrounding forest, ever searching for the strange creature which had warned her to leave. Here, in the sunlight of the peaceful stream, the call of that evil being upon her very essence was far from her imaginings. She slept and dreamed.

* * *

**A/N: Poor little Nivea. And her father, the magician, is having a time of it, too.  
**

Kyndciant Vocab Aid:

"Numfverfolgt" means nymph haunt.

Pronunciation Guide:

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Kynd – Kend

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Numfverfolgt - Numf'-ver-fult

Bestestueck - Best-es'-too-eck


	12. The Gem of the Eastern King

Chapter 12 – The Gem of the Eastern King

Tholke was aware of his surroundings, though he had not gathered the strength to open his eyes. He was in the throne room at Malafiegr's feet.

"You told me I would be rewarded!" snarled the deep voice of the animal beside him. He could feel the beast's hot breath on his face as his senses began to awaken, and smelled the fetid grime of the wolf's matted fur.

"You did not bring me all I require, Iehdua. You will have your new blood when you finish the task."

"Lies, always lies! Essence or no, I would have your throat -,"

Suddenly, the wolf yelped and a flash of intense heat singed the hair upon Tholke's face simultaneously. "Enough!" screamed Malafiegr. "You have my promise; you have my protection within the forest. Do not incur my wrath, dog. Go and find them!"

Tholke opened his eyes and watched the wolf slink away, limping; his left haunch had been charred by Malafiegr's temper.

"Get up, Kynd," ordered the Queen of Naut. He felt himself being wrenched off the floor to a standing position. He could not stifle the yell as his arm, which had been crushed by Iehdua's teeth, was flung from his side. He was whirled around to look on the queen who sat upon her sapphire pedestal. In her hand, her black scepter was visible. Atop it, the metallic carven hand of steel clasped an onyx orb. The spherical object was alight; borne by the incandescence of Malafiegr's yellow-green flame.

The Queen's lip twitched and curled. Her wrath was teeming, begging to be released upon him. He closed his eyes in the inevitability of what would soon occur to him.

"Beg for your life, Kynd. Plead for a day more!"

Tholke did not look at her; his entire body cringed before her.

"Speak, vile being! Ask for mercy."

"Please…"

"Tell me how sorry you are that you deceived me. You lied to me, foul Kynd! You vowed to be bound to me. Instead, you served her!"

"I'm sorry," Tholke choked out.

"You still lie. I should have expected it, all Kyndciant are the same. I should never have left you to your own thoughts. I never will again."

"Summon Reygul," Malafiegr demanded of the Yar servants. Malafiegr's command confused Tholke, and he looked up to perceive her intentions. Her eyes were boring into his.

"Reygul told me all. She told me of Lorelei's "game." She is a very stupid child. It can't be helped; her father was of your pathetic race. Only, he was heir to a Kyndciant throne," Malafiegr's voice showed the vein of pride she drew from this knowledge. "When she is of age, I will claim her throne; Kynds will be put in their rightful place once more!"

The pattering of small feet upon the hard floor of the room drew Tholke's attention. He turned and viewed the little girl approaching. He perused her features intently. Was this the personage of the childlike voice he had followed through the castle corridors? Her Faere hair was crimson waves encircling a face of dark copper hue. The older child looked nothing like Nivea, though the shape and sheen of her eyes were the same. Yet, those eyes were repugnant to him; they held no emotion, no tenderness. Reygul looked upon him void of sympathy. She did not display any reaction to the terror she witnessed in the man's eyes. She greeted him simply.

"Do not speak to him!" screamed Malafiegr. Tholke saw the child's fear at her mother's fury. "This is how your father was, child. He told me he would serve me. He was a liar." The girl looked upon Tholke with real curiosity now.

"Will you kill Husband, too?" Reygul asked without a trace of concern.

Ignoring her daughter's question, Malafiegr told her, "What you must learn is: never entrust your essence to a Kynd." She spoke the words slowly, deliberately. Reygul was dismissed, forced to leave. Disappointment was on the child's face, for she desired to know what Tholke's punishment would be.

Malafiegr turned upon Tholke with a hate-filled burst of indignation. "How dare you manipulate her against me!" The words reverberated through his head and he swayed with its force.

"I will do the same to you, Kynd, with your Nivea!"

Now, Tholke dropped to his knees, the tears springing forth. "No! I will do anything!"

"That is what you promised in the beginning. See what you have done? I cannot trust your words."

The look of despair on Tholke's face caused Malafiegr to smile. She craved only his complete servitude, and she had found the means of attaining it once more. "I have a task for you, Tholke, which, if accomplished precisely as I command, will spare you your child."

Hope sprang up in the man's eyes, and he began to express his willingness to comply. "I will do whatever you ask-,"

Malafiegr held up her hand. "Do not waste your treacherous tongue. Only your deeds will save your child. You will obey because her life depends upon it."

* * *

Nivea was in a dark place. She tried to look around her, but could not. All she could make out was a vivid yellow light. It shone directly in front of her; it shone upon the earth which looked to have the markings of having been newly dug. There were deep, uneven ruts, as though something had given all its strength and plowed in forceful arm-lengths. Still, she could not turn; she could not move any of her limbs.

Within her rose frustration and panic. It did not subside, nor did it aid in helping her to shift herself. If only she could turn; if only she could see where she was and what she feared. She felt a wave of helplessness come to the forefront of her mind; it was her strongest emotion. She saw her Oma lying upon the earthen floor, the tall trees bent over as though the old woman lay in a vast, ceiled room. Nivea wanted to run to her and wake her, but she could not. She felt rather than heard a distant cry. Someone was calling for help. Someone was screaming. Someone was wailing. Her chest ached with the panic and powerlessness. In her dream, the light of the forest grew darker and darker, but for the amber sliver of light shining before her. Nivea gave all her efforts to perceive the source of that light. She fought and fought to move, to make some motion. To her amazement something did occur: another light, a thin ribbon which intersected the golden glow against the wall of earth before her. She readied her energies, bound in the frustration and fear, and concentrated on the unknown barrier which kept her again. The ribbon of light became a stream, and she could tell now that it was sunlight. There was sunlight above and she must reach out to it.

Something nudged her side and woke her. "Get up!" commanded the servant. His face was streaked in fresh dirt, as he stared curiously at the mound beside Nivea's prone form.

"Where is my master, Willifus the woodward? Answer me," demanded the servant, Jann, angrily. He did not look upon the child, but continued to stare at the hill.

Nivea answered tremulously, "He… he went away."

"Whose hand did this?" asked Jann. He did not wait for a reply, but walked upon the mound gingerly. As she watched, her eyes alighted on the change in the structure. She gasped; for the great boulders had parted as though pushed open from the top of the hill. Nivea watched as he sat on his haunches, peering into the crevice created. He backed away quickly, almost toppling down in his rush to get away. "Demons! There are demons there!" His eyes were wide with horror. It was then that he looked beneath the hood upon the uplifted countenance of the white girl. He screamed hoarsely and scrambled away on hands and knees.

Once he made it to his feet, he began to run. "Demons!" he yelled as he rushed through the brush. "She has brought demons!"

Nivea, so shaken by the man's reaction, backed away from the mound. What were demons? And why had the servant been so frightened of her? She eyed the crack of darkness between the separated boulders, fearful that something terrible would come forth from that black hole. She stared upon it so intently that she was able to make out a strange light filtering through it: a golden light. Her dream came back to her with great force. Was the yellow light in her dream found in that place? Had she truly something to do with what the servant had seen when he had looked into the hole? A mad beat rushed to her ear and she recognized its rhythm from her dream. Despair, anguish, fear, and hopelessness tangled up within her, creating turmoil beyond what Nivea could comprehend. She sat down upon the ground as the feeling overtook her. It was the same feeling she had experienced in the woods when the wolf had come to look upon her. Instinctively, she tested the power as she had tested that of the wolf. It was different: a dormant force. Yet, the unbridled terror, an emotion alien to her, did not abate. She could not look around her. She felt frozen, as though the presence of the wolf were behind her and she could neither run nor utter a syllable. Her chest tightened immovably; she felt suffocated with dread.

As she fought the constricting feelings within, she heard as well as saw the boulders before her divide. It was then that Nivea understood the force of her inner turmoil. The curiosity that coursed through her made the foreign fear and hopelessness wane. The movement of the boulders had stilled, and she found that she could stand. She began to ascend the hill of stone, intent on seeing what was contained within. Almost as though it were a familiar thing, the yellow light met her eye. She followed it to its source; immediately beneath her, planted in the midst, two children gazed upon her with glowing eyes. The sight was one that made Nivea step back, then approach and peer into the opening again. The children had not stirred.

She tried to make them move with her mind and felt the same frustration. They were alive; struggling, but not their own. Something bound them, like a chain holding their limbs fast. She feared that that something was the familiar force shining through their eyes, just as the wolf's eyes had glowed.

"Help me," whispered a childlike voice to Nivea. She stared upon the motionless ones, but they had not changed.

She listened with greater concentration, and her ears caught the strange sounds of gurgling coming from the spring. From the center of the pool, froth was pushing itself upward. It churned and swirled. It seemed as if the spring was quickening; the foam multiplied and lifted above the water's surface. Nivea watched and descended the hill to walk toward it. The foam formed the figure of a woman's head and shoulders, which seemed to float toward the edge of the spring. A hand of foam lifted and waved to her invitingly, beckoning.

She heard a deep, caressing hum in the tumult of the gushing waters.

"Little one, I know of you.

The gem of the Eastern King.

Skin as white as the purest snow

Eyes black as the raven's wing."

Nivea ran forward to touch the froth naively. Her hand went through the mass of bubbles and the lake erupted in a peal of gently rippling laughter.

"Sweetest one, you have no fear.

You know what is good and whole.

Beware the wiles of evil, child;

That you it may not control!"

The foam was now reforming and embracing her arm in a soft, pillow-like hold. Nivea was comforted beyond what her four years could express in words. She simply said, with tears welling up again, "Oma is gone."

"Such sadness you have, little one.

But dry your tears and smile.

Many there are who love you, child.

Only wait a little while."

Though her words did not soothe little Nivea, the comfort and the song did. The small lips of the child released a single sigh, and the lady of the lake sang a wordless lullaby to drown out the pains of her sorrow, giving her hope again.

* * *

**A/N: I think these are my favorite lines of Lorelei (the lady of the water) so far.**

Pronunciation Guide:

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Iehdua - Ee-eh'-doo-ah

Kynd – Kend

Reygul - Ray'-gul

Yar – Vor

Lorelei - Lor'-ah-lye

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Jann - Yawn


	13. Girding the Token

Chapter 13 – Girding the Token

Lord Thridus Engaleos, seneschal of His Majesty's court, watched as his High Commander paced the courtyard. Exlir was dressed in his finest robes, his figure and stride gave every indication that the King was prepared for this day of days. But something in his manner betrayed him. There were flashes of nervous anticipation, and Thridus had seen the King's eyes travel to the velvet-lined throne of the Queen as they had exited the Great Hall. There had been hearsay throughout the city that his Queen had died in the night; no one had seen her all the morning. Directions were sent to him by messenger that her absence would be properly excused during the King's blessing over the feast, though she would be at court during the Kyndciant ceremony honoring the heir of Abbon Dwin. It was not an officer's place to ask the condition of the Queen; it was Thridus' job to see to details of the events that day and the security of the royal court.

"Have the captain of the guard position a patrol at the South gate this very morning," directed the king.

"A patrol of the South gate is wise," Thridus calmly responded, though he had considered it of little consequence: the South gate was no longer used, barred, corroding, and grown over.

"Nothing amiss has been witnessed since yester eve." The words murmured by the King were not presented as such, but Thridus knew that it was a question; for Exlir would not look upon him.

"No, Your Highness," Thridus tried to keep the surprise from his voice. This had been the third time the King had spoken regarding those entering the gate to avail themselves of the festivities. The," Thridus hesitated, "_visitors_ have arrived within the prepared quarters. The doors have been watched since; no one has entered or come from that place with the exception of your own Royal Greeter," Thridus paused again, alluding to the Faere princesses' clandestine arrival the evening before.

This news seemed to have no effect upon the King's dark mood; he continued to pace. Lord Thridus spoke again, "Only the Eastern gate is approachable. The guards have orders to contain the festivities within the boundaries set to which you have given approval. No one," his voice grew bold, "no one will be admitted into the court this day unless they are witnessed to be invited guests."

King Exlir gave no response; his eyes rested upon the blossom of yellow petals growing wild in the midst of the garden.

"My Liege, forgive me this trespass, but – is this not the morn of a joyous day? Your countenance displays no felicity. It is a celebration, is it not?"

At his words, the King's eyes met the steward's. Lord Thridus saw the tiredness there in the rays of the sun. The monarch mustered a smile under his great red bush of beard. "It is that, Thridus. I am glad of your words." Yet, the smile did not take as the king gazed overhead to the second level of the keep.

* * *

Folora watched from the roof of the northwest room built for her and her two sisters, Ejedr and Miichl, during their stay. It afforded a view of the keep within Kraeftholo, but a distant one. She stared upon it with rapt curiosity. It was Risdona's home and had been for four years. She did not envy her younger sister such a bleak residence. The habitation was quite barbaric for a daughter to the _Xin jylo_ of the Shield of Prye. Yet, Folora felt respect for the courage Risdona had shown in marrying one who would deprive her of ever returning to her homeland. For no Faere, once bound to another race, could again find harbor on those shores of light. The Shield of Prye was no longer home to any but the Faere of pure essence.

Soon after Folora and her sisters were successfully transported, a Kynd had brought a greeting from King Exlir, notifying them there would be feasting, music, and other rites of Kyndciant tradition all the day in honor of the princess. With great tact, they had also been given to understand that they were not to venture beyond the door of the building in which they resided. "For your protection," the King's greeter had expressed. Yet, as Folora looked down to perceive the soldiers stationed at the doors of the guest quarters specially built for the daughters of Maithe, she was reminded of how Kynds looked upon those of the Faere race with mistrust, even hatred still. There were those who believed the inhabitants of the Shield of Prye were biding time, seeking an opportunity to bring the Kyndciant race under Faere enchantment once more. A small sigh of long-suffering escaped Folora's dark lips. If the hosts of the Shield were given the command, they would march forth and conquer the race of Kyndciant without resistance. Yet, it was not the desire of the Faere, and had not been for a century, to control any race. The magic of the Faere was a gift that had to be exercised with great care always.

Folora had watched the masses of Kyndciant peoples, subjects of the King, making merry in the square all the day. The gate of the castle had been opened to them to celebrate the first year of the child of King Exlir and his Faere queen. Now the sun was drawing westward, and the bells had sounded. There would be no revelry within the castle wall that eve by any except those of nobility and honor, though the King had bestowed plenteous and sundry gifts upon the village beyond the fortress for the merrymaking to continue throughout the night. Only the child would sleep, to be awakened just before the dawn, when the Faere token would be given her.

Ana entered Folora's apartments. "You have been here long, _teieth_. Come into the courtyard and refresh yourself before the sun is no more," she coaxed softly.

Folora assented, following her sister to the open level of the tower. They were high above the structures surrounding them inside the fortress wall of Exlir's castle. The square foundation of the abode rose and narrowed until it came to the first floor consisting of three square suites whose corners protruded from the northwest, southwest, and southeast directions of the edifice. From any of the three suites, a portion of the layout of the city within the wall could be descried. The stairs ascended from each residence to the next level: a courtyard in the center of the structure, completely laid open to the elements with the exception of great metal pillars through which the refraction of the sun's light both warmed the occupants and enhanced the light of day. The pillars flanked the periphery of the courtyard, supporting two higher chambers facing the northeast and northern directions. The Faere princesses silently gathered upon the open platform.

"The moon begins whole this eve," spoke Uld.

The ten of Maithe _Xin jylo_ viewed the day as the rays of the sun flagged in the sky. Folora closed her eyes and breathed in the life around her. There was something different in this atmosphere; something she could not describe. The newness intrigued her, though she longed for the waters of her homeland. So parched was she by this dry air.

The sisters stood in silence, delighting in the novelty of their surroundings. Rarely did they leave the island, and then only to journey to Prye'dlan, the gateway city to the Shield. Norca spoke of her younger sister, "She will not attend."

Unconsciously, the tear-shaped eyes of the sisters were lifted to the highest tower of the two built above the courtyard. It faced directly north and was reserved for she who would be successor to the Faere Queen mother. The heir of the Shield of Prye had refused to be present during this meeting, choosing this small rebellion. For Wynndh had not been granted leave by Queen Maithe to bestow a gift on the child of her sister, being yet a year too young to wield such a degree of Faere power.

The nine other princesses looked to Folora. "She has been chosen to bear the gift of Maithe _jylo_. It is enough," the eldest Faere responded, lifting a tiny silver sphere encased in a silken cream-colored cloth. Folora spoke in the tongue of the ancestors, the language of the Faellyn. "It is time to gird the token. Illdaen." As wielders of the greater magic, each sister would grant essence to the token through one gift.

Illdaen, with black coiled ringlets and eyes like tears of midnight blue, began, "As child of Kynd and Faere, her life will hold adversity. Where rash judgment may be her lot to endure of others, I give her the patience of those before her to press forward in her trials." Folora lifted the sphere to the second eldest Faere princess. Illdaen kissed the sphere, her lips flashing an ember of light from the surface of the metallic orb.

Folora moved to Miichl, who told her sisters, "As heir to the Kyndciant throne, she will have influence upon her people. I grant to her the tongue of persuasion that she might charm both friend and foe." Miichl bent to kiss the sphere.

Folora approached the twins, Tanetenet and Chlknet. Tanetenet spoke,"The gifts we have chosen will aid her in ruling her subjects well."

"We bestow measures of compassion and empathy, that she might be tender-hearted when times require," added Chlknet. Together they kissed the sphere, two sparks simultaneously glancing off the token.

The eldest Faere held the gift of Queen Maithe to Ana. "Risdona was before me, and I am _tei_ _teieth_. Therefore, I hold this child _tei_. Hers will be the love of those Faere gone whose hearts were full; a love which might give and give again of the well-spring which never diminishes nor grows cold." The light from the sphere sparked twice as brilliant, as though in evidence of such a gift.

Ejedr stared upon the token as it came to her. Her brow was furrowed as she spoke. "The young are many times too quick to judge. Yet, I would not wish to take her mistakes from her; they will give her wisdom. I grant her remembrance of the past, that she might perceive the folly of others and choose the just path."

With her kiss, the silver orb was passed to Ceolye, who smiled softly. "To comfort the child-princess, I give the delight of song; that she will have the joy of creating it, as those have before her, and the knowledge of its many meanings." As she gave her kiss, a few of the thin, metal strands of her titian hair came in contact with the sphere; it caused a lovely musical tinkling, as though the gift was already granted.

Uld's eyes were closed as Folora brought the token before the ninth daughter of Maithe. Her sisters stared upon her with all attention; for Uld bore the responsibility of presentiments. The curtain shielding that which was to come had been lifted in that very moment and the trembling Faere opened her eyes, saying:

"The child of dawn shall live in shadow;

Her sun will rise but by another.

The child of snow shall warm the sleeping,

'Til the evil passes over.

-

The child of blood shall bloom untainted;

Noble path she will discover."

The selfless love for daughters three

Will bind the hearts together."

-

Uld kissed the sphere, but no spark rose. Instead, the token quaked upon the silken cloth. Each sister held the question in her eyes: what did this mean for the heir of King Exlir? No one had the understanding; they knew not what awaited the child.

Norca stepped forward eagerly, the youngest but one. Her bronze waves caught the light in a sudden halo of adornment. Her eyes were as lucid and velvety in color as the lilac's blossom. At sixteen, she had newly begun to practice the greater magic, having experienced the awakening. "Calmly," Folora cautioned.

Norca nodded and began. "Those of our race possess beauty to all who behold a Faere. But a beauty which eyes cannot see, nor fingertips touch, do I give. She will have fairness borne from a heart of generosity and goodness that will ever make those who remember her countenance acknowledge it as tenfold that of its true splendor." Norca closed her eyes and kissed the sphere, sighing happily after her task was completed.

"And, I give to the princess the greatness of virtue," Folora added. "From Faere who held to their purpose and embraced the goodness of our race, she is given the fortitude of mind to stand for what is right in times when it is most difficult." The eldest Faere daughter of Queen Maithe kissed the sphere and enclosed it in the silken cloth. A sense of waiting was felt by the sisters as they looked to the highest tower again.

"Do you think she will attend the ceremony?" Norca asked.

"Maithe _jylo_ has commanded her, and she will do what is required," Folora answered, speaking of Wynndh.

A knock sounded upon the door of the passage which led directly to the entrance of the edifice built for the Faere guests. "Inform Wynndh it is time," Folora nodded to Norca.

"I know it," came a voice from the passageway of the tallest tower. A small, childlike Faere with hair of royal blue and pure white eyes walked into the courtyard. "Enter!" she declared to the one who knocked.

Aaliristo bowed before them. "Your Majesties," he said with open joy in being in the presence of his race. There were exclamations of delight in seeing the familiar friend.

"Aliristo! We wondered that you did not present yourself at our arrival," Wynndh reproved.

"It was my desire to come to you at that hour; but I was detained by a matter, the direness of which I wish to relay to you and to our Queen _jylo_ immediately." As he spoke of Queen Maithe, he gave his full attention to Wynndh.

"To what does this matter pertain?" Wynndh asked him.

"I bear tidings of your sister, the Queen of Abbon Dwin, Risdona. Do not be alarmed; the worst is passed. I gave knowledge of some detail to our Faere Queen of Prye only days ago. It cannot be ignored-," Aaliristo broke off. "I am concerned that my words will harm rather than comfort. I am not certain what my Queen would have me divulge." He glanced upon the ten princesses who gave ear to his conversation with Wynndh.

"Very well," the heir consented. "I have some aught to speak with you privily, as well. We will continue this interview in my quarters."

"Please," Ana spoke. "What ails Risdona?"

"Child of Maithe, I cannot be pressed to do what may not be in accordance with the will of the Queen," Aaliristo spoke regretfully as he turned to follow the heir of the Shield of Prye to the highest tower.

* * *

**A/N: Eleven daughters of Queen Maithe; what a lot of females in one house! Have all their names memorized by the next chapter; there will be a test. :)**

**Help! I can't figure out whether 'king' should be capitalized. Example: "**At his words, the King's eyes met the steward's.**" Please advise.**

Faere Vocab Aid:

"Teieth" means sister. It is derived from the term "tei", meaning beloved one/one held very dear.

_Tei teieth_ is sister held very dear.

Xin (fem) - ruler

jylo – mother

Pronunciation Guide:

Thridus Engaleos - Try'-dus En-geh-lay'-os

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Folora - Fa-lor'-uh

Ejedr - Eh-sheh-deer'

Miichl - Meh'-kul

Kraeftholo - Krayft-'hoh-loh

Risdona - Ris-doh'-na (original name of Arisdona)

Prye – Pree

Kynd – Kend

Ana - Aw'-nah

teieth - ty-eth'

Uld - Oo'-uld

Maithe - Mayth

Xin – Ex-in

jylo - shy-loh

Prye'dlan - Pree-ed'-lun

Norca – Nor'(rolled r)-cah

Wynndh –Win'(wh creates a whistling sound)-nuh

Faellyn – Feh'-llyn ('ll' as pronounced in Welsh)

Illdaen - Eyell-day-een' ('ll' as pronounced in Welsh)

Tanetenet - Tah-nay'-teh-nay'

Chlknet - Kul'-kah-nay

Tei - ty

Ceolye - Coh'-lee

Aaliristo - A'(like the letter)-al-eh-ris'-toh

Aliristo - Al-eh-ris'-toh (Original name for Aaliristo)


	14. The Uninvited Guest

Chapter 14 - The Uninvited Guest

In the anteroom within the tallest tower, the young, girlish Wynndh announced, "Maithe _jylo_ desires I bring to your remembrance the words of Alugona on the eve of the departure of _ma_ Lafiegr. The _sretetdwra_ is strengthened daily, yet is remains hidden from our _Xin jylo_. The danger is upon this generation. She requests that you make known to King Exlir this threat to Faere and Kynd alike. You are given charge to summon who you will require of Maithe's most valiant to safeguard Abbon Dwin's stronghold."

The Faere ambassador's colors dispersed as he spoke. "I adjure you, heir of the Shield of Prye, grant me an interview at once!"

Fear and curiosity flickered in Wynndh's eyes before she closed them to exact his request. The opalescent sphere in her palm glowed and floated in a mist of white vapor above the Faere's fingertips. "Jylotei gailhsetje yr lut kheru da'laet. Yr tairisetje ro'arrta."

Aaliristo watched Wynndh's face closely. This child of power, trained from birth to temper her displays, was quite controlled. He only detected the dispersing of the magic upon her countenance minutely. Great was her mastery; for suddenly her eyes opened and through her spoke Maithe, the Queen of the Faere.

"Aliristo. I am heartened to see your eye of discernment once again."

"My beloved Queen," Aaliristo knelt upon the floor of the chamber. "I am honored by your attention and your communication. I received your missive by the bird yesterday morn. I am greatly troubled-,"

"Missive? To what do you refer?"

Aaliristo paused. His fear was now confirmed; it was not her advice he had received and followed. He stared upon the countenance of Wynndh, as he tried to explain to Maithe what had occurred. "Queen _jylo_, I wrote to you and received response."

"There has been some treachery, Aliristo. I feared as much, though I had nothing to confirm. Tell me what has transpired."

Aaliristo quickly related the events, concluding with Arisdona's danger. "She is bereft of all essence but that which her husband could bestow. She lives, but cannot protect nor strengthen her child."

"Is the child of Risdona in any danger?"

"I perceive none. All the day they have been guarded and watched. Risdona will not be parted from her for a moment and seems at peace."

"Yet, the threat is still imminent. You must watch, Aliristo; she is nigh. I wish to transport my troops this very hour to assist Exlir."

"My Queen, I would delight in receiving them; but, the Kyndciant King has had no knowledge of the danger of _ma_ Lafeigr. I have never spoken of her, as you commanded me; therefore, I beg you: give me time to relay your words and intents."

"It is well, Aliristo. Your counsel is wise. The appearance of my warriors within his stronghold might cause the King to construe my assistance as a breech of our mutual goodwill. He might find it an unforgivable intrusion. Go to Exlir immediately and perceive what course he would welcome. I will remain at hand to hold counsel with him myself, should he desire."

"You are gracious, _Xin jylo_. I will relay your message with all haste."

"Aliristo, do not let the matter grow cold. I perceive the shrouded approach of Lafeigr the _sretetdwra_, intent upon malice."

* * *

Willifus knew he had little time; he had met his servant returning from the spring. Crazed with fright, Jann had told the woodward all, fully convinced of the curse of Numfverfolgt. He had commanded his man to be silent, but he knew nothing would keep the news from reaching the ear of the warden now. What if it was true? What if his children were demons? He must hide them quickly or some edict would proclaim them an evil to be destroyed by fire. He hurried on, contemplating how the packhorse he rode and the second which he led could perform the task. The "ghost-child" he had left at the spring was of little concern; though, from his servant's account, the strange girl was still there. He hoped she had fled in fear at his servant's display of terror. He wished no more to do with her.

It was the hour before dusk when Willifus approached the spring, desirous that the moon would light his way on his return. Though he had been informed of what he might see, the sight of the gaping boulders took his breath away. How could those great rocks have moved? For a moment he judged that the girl was gone, but his heart dropped in its elation when the red-hooded child came toward him from the water. He heard the gurgle of the spring, more vibrant than he had espied earlier that day. He saw the thick, translucent lather upon its surface, but took no thought for it. He climbed the mound determinedly.

There he saw them, his Willifric and his Heta. He could have persuaded himself they were resting but for the radiant light shining from the eyes. He could not deny what was before him. They were his children, but they were changed. He hesitated.

"Papa," said Nivea.

Willifus turned sharply. "What did you say?"

"I can hear them. They cry, 'Papa'." Nivea's dark brows came together in pain, but Willifus did not perceive it.

"They did not speak," Willifus argued roughly. He was torn. His chest ached to hold his children, but he saw that there was truly some evil there.

"The boy," Nivea returned. "He says the man who concealed them broke his reeds."

The words stung Willifus. He turned upon Nivea with a snarl. "You have done this. You have awakened the curse here!"

"No!" Nivea answered, and Willifus watched as the water behind her began to crash and murmur all the more rapidly. He began to back away until his back met his horse. The beast nudged him and began to sniff at his pocket, searching for a carrot or turnip which Willifus sometimes kept there for him. Willifus pushed the beast's head, turning to view the eye of the horse. Toneic was not frightened. The spring rippled, the white child stood before them; yet, the horses did not sense anything to upset!

"Your children sleep. They have been rescued, and they need your protection now. Do not desert them," Nivea said, relaying the message that the lady of the lake spoke to her.

Nivea watched the man's countenance, openly displaying his surprise at her admonition. His hand went to his head, pressing the mat of fiery hair as he pondered her words. "Willifric's pipes," he repeated. "How could you know of that? What of Heta? What does my daughter say?"

This time he watched the features of the girl before him. As she concentrated, he perceived the pain of her trial. When she opened her eyes to speak, they were swimming in tears. "She is crying. She says she is sorry for leaving the camp."

Willifus stared at her, his mouth agape. "Tell me how to hear them."

Nivea shook her head. "I cannot."

"How is it that you may hear?" Again the girl shook her head. He spoke his thoughts, "I must hide them. Someone will come soon. You will return with me. If they find you, they will know all." Willifus' hands shook as he brought the rope from the horse's satchel and began leading Toneic up the mound.

The woodward worked to hoist his children onto the horse's back. The light of the full moon was bright, and aided them on their return. Nivea hungered, but did not complain. There was a change with her. As she walked, she felt the life about her and drank it in with every breath. Each breath became deeper, more intoxicating. Her senses heightened, and she was aware of the sounds and scents about her more keenly. She attributed these new sensations to the meeting with the lake lady. Nivea had whispered a silent goodbye to the water, hoping she would return to her only friend.

* * *

It was night when the great, black carriage approached the risen bridge of Abbon Dwin's stronghold, Kraeftholo. Two sentries called out into the darkness.

"No one may enter in this eve."

"You may celebrate in the village and seek entry on the morrow."

From the seat of the carriage a form moved, stepping down. It unfolded its massive figure and dropped the cloak from its head. Consternation went through the guardsmen as they recognized one of the Nayar race. His white face seemed to glow in the light of the moon. "I am Yaryellig of the Mount Yaryth. My lord bids me inform you that we come in goodwill and extend the hand of friendship. He has traveled many leagues to show his deference to the great King Exlir of Abbon Dwin!"

It was some time before the bridge was lowered and a band of soldiers filed forth, encircling the massive black horses which were shining with sweat, pawing the ground violently. It seemed the edict had changed for the visitor; he would be granted entrance. "Tell your lord to show himself. We have orders to search all manner of conveyance."

Tholke lifted the latch upon the door and stepped from the carriage. With all the boldness he could muster, he folded his hands over his chest and boomed forth, "Is this the hospitality I should seek from a great king? This is the diplomacy of King Exlir?"

The guards stepped away in surprise, and Tholke knew that the enchantment Malafiegr had taught him was indeed at work. The guards of the gate of Kraeftholo beheld him as a giant Yar lord. He approached the sentry closest him, addressing him and his comrades while waving his arm toward his carriage.

"Be quick, then. Search the carriage. Search my servant. By any means, you have my permission to insult!" The guards whose duty it was to search the interior of the great compartment were hesitant. Tholke watched as the chief of the watch gave clear indication with his eyes that the searchers go forward with their task.

"My lord," addressed a man running forth from the gate with an entourage of servants and the marshal. "We did not expect the honor of your tribe this day. We are very humbled by your presence." Tholke's eyes alighted on the greeter eagerly. "You and your servant will accompany me, and your horses will be attended to," the representative of the castle instructed.

Tholke followed the officer through the gate, as his Yar guard addressed the marshal and his grooms, who looked apprehensively upon the spent but mighty horses. "Take care," warned Yaryellig. "The stallions are rogues after such a pace."

"Come to the guest quarters beyond while your arrival is announced," Tholke was directed, as he followed the guide through each raised portcullis of the stronghold. He and Yaryellig took the winding stairway to enter a small tower nearest the gate. Guards were posted outside the door.

Two sentries had been stationed within the anteroom, as well. It was obvious that they had expected the two guests to enter the inner chamber and leave them to a whispered conversation. But Tholke did not remove himself from their presence, sighing grandly as he folded himself to sit at a small table. Without ceremony, he extracted his card from his robes and began to separate the card in his hands. He had their attention instantly when, with a flourish, he manipulated them swiftly. The guards watched with interest, and he began to prey upon their minds with his enchantment. So intent did they become upon the cards, they did not notice Yaryellig open the door to the chamber.

"What do you do?" one of the soldiers without demanded of the guards in the room.

"Come and see," Tholke caused the guard nearest him to appeal to his fellow-soldier.

"To your task," the guard outside reproved shortly, but not before he had glimpsed the movement of the cards. His eyes stayed transfixed, and Tholke drew more of the sentinel until all clamored to see the spectacle which would keep their minds ensnared. The magician and the Yar passed down the steps completely unencumbered. Tholke slipped the original card into his pocket and concentrated on feeling the Faere essence at work within the fortress. He remembered Malafiegr's warning: he would have little time before the one who guarded the king would sense his small enchantment. That Faere would show no mercy, and his Nivea would die if he should fail.

* * *

**A/N: A Kynd mated to a Faere enjoys the advantage of infiltrating without a Faere perceiving the presence of magic, which explains why Malafiegr would want to be bound to one of the Kyndciant race. At the beginning of the story, she entered the city on market day for the express purpose of hunting a candidate. Tholke (or Agmund at the time) was chosen specifically because he already had the ability to use slight enchantments, meaning his mind would be more flexible to training. Yet, it angered her that he ignorantly toyed with this ability, and she made a fool of him in front of the townspeople for it. She's very impulsive.**

Faere Vocab Aid:

_sretetdwra_ ('sreh-tet-'dwar-ah) – (fem) means "murderess" in the context.

_Jylotei gailhsedm yr lut kheru da'laet. Yr tairisetje ro'arrta._ – "Beloved Mother awaken/listen to this strong voice of the child which you possess/your child's voice of power. This loyal servant begs this word/petitions for an audience."

_Xin jylo_ – "majestic mother"

Pronunciation Guide:

Maithe – Mayth

jylo - shy-loh

Alugona - A(like the letter)-loo'– guh– na

_ma _Lafiegr - Mă'- Luh-fay'-air (This is how the Faere pronounce her name.)

Lafiegr – Luh-fay'-air (original Faere name of Malafiegr)

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Kynd – Kend

Prye – Pree

Wynndh –Win'(wh creates a whistling sound)-nuh

Aaliristo - A'(like the letter)-al-eh-ris'-toh

Aliristo – Al-eh-ris'-toh (original Faere name of Aaliristo)

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na

Risdona – Ris-doh'-na (original Faere name of Arisdona)

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Jann - Yawn

Numfverfolgt – Numf'-ver-fult

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Toneic – Toh'-nyic

Kraeftholo - Krayft-hoh'-loh

Yaryellig – Vorv'-e-lig

Yaryth - Vor'-vut

Nayar – No-vor'

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Yar - Vor


	15. Night Visitors

Chapter 15 – Night Visitors

Under cover of night, Willifus brought the horse to the old barn which was used to store the King's surplus during the hunt. Afar, the glow of a fire told him Gerta awaited his return. For a twinkling he contemplated keeping the knowledge of the children's whereabouts from her. When he had returned home without the children after his tour of the grounds, Willifus had told his wife that he would soon find them. But Gerta had resigned herself to the sorrow of loss. It had rankled Willifus that she had been content to believe the children were dead. He had known they were still alive!

He deposited the cloaked bundles inside the barn. He did not speak to Nivea. The girl kept close to him with never a word, like a haunting apparition, always returning to his thoughts. He settled his children in the corner, closing their eyes with a wish that the horrible beams would no longer fill them. The children looked as though they were sleeping, and the woodward's heart ached for their return. With his back to her, he asked Nivea, "What do they say now?"

The only response he received was a dull thud upon the earthen floor. Turning, he saw the white child had fainted dead away. He rolled her over with his shoe, so that he did not have to view her pale countenance.

He bolted the door of the shed with the handle of his ax and allowed his horses to saunter behind him, leading them to the stable. He did not speak to the young servant who took the reins from him. As he tred the slope toward his cottage, he perceived that the fire was well-stoked within. Could there be a visitor at home this late? Fear crept into him and his heart raced as he neared his abode.

Gerta's relief was evident. "You have been gone all the day. After the creature of the morning, I thought -." His wife's words were lost on him; he was intent upon the three others in the room. The warden was there, along with another Kynd with the seal of the court upon his vesture.

"Warden," he greeted, doffing his tunic to give to his wife as he spoke. Both gestured a nod to the other. The stranger gave his occupation as the royal court summoner, causing Willifus to eye his servant, Jann, warily. Jann balanced his weight on one foot then on the other; it seemed that the master's return had the servant on edge. It occurred to Willifus that Jann had been speaking of him before his entrance, but he strove to remain outwardly unruffled.

"Master Willifus, you have seen some strange thing this day," the Warden began.

"I have," Willifus answered. He welcomed abruptly, "You will sup with me."

The men assented and sat down at table. Willifus took no notice of Jann, as the servant kept his place in the corner of the room. It pleased him that Jann was thus separated, giving him to understand he had no true part in the discussion of those overseeing the King's matters.

Gerta served a pottage that stuck to the roof of the mouth, due to its prolonged period warming over the brightened flames provided for the guests. Willifus ate with great appetite. He drank his mead with vigor. As the rage of hunger was somewhat abated within him, he looked to his guests. Wiping his repast from his beard with the sleeve of his undershirt, he said, "I beheld a wolf this morning with the strength of ten men. I approached the creature and he fled."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jann motioning to be given permission to speak.

"Tell us, Jann," the warden granted when he perceived Willifus would not.

"My master forgets the demons at the spring." Jann hesitated, adding, "At Numfverfolgt."

"Tell me, did you journey to Numfverfolgt this day?" the warden asked, his brows knit together. It was clear that the official had already been acquainted with the news.

"As I told you, I have been hunting the wolf from early morn 'til this eve," Willifus looked to his wife for her to douse his trencher with a third helping.

"I happed upon you when you returned at midday for the horses. You went to the spring-," spoke Jann, forgetting himself.

"I was not at the forbidden place," the woodward lied calmly. At Jann's incredulous mien, Willifus added, "I did return at midday. I spoke to my servant." He motioned toward Jann. "I believed his brain to be addled by some strange thing."

Jann said not another syllable; he knew better than to challenge his master's words. Yet, the servant's face expressed utter disbelief. Slowly his surprise changed to a look of apprehension. For the servant had admitted his presence at the spring to the warden. He would be shunned for his trespass, if not severely punished.

"Did you find the wolf?" the warden persisted.

Willifus shook his head, pushing the remnants of his bread away. "I found no sign of him."

"Why did you return for the horses at midday?" prompted the overseer again.

"When I first ventured out at after sunrise, I found a trespasser who had expired in the night. Jann buried the old Kynd woman; but there was a child, a young girl. The girl wandered off, and I took the horses to aid in our return."

"Where is the girl now?"

Willifus hesitated. "I – I don't know."

"Just like the children!" Gerta whispered, holding the corners of her apron to her heart.

The warden stood up from the bench and leaned over the table. "I am sorry for the disappearance of your children. It is for this reason that Bodo and I are come. I was informed two days ago by milord Knosbardt of the hunt that word of the devilry in the forest has been conveyed to the chief justice himself."

The man with the crest of the king spoke. "You are hereby summoned to attend the hearing of the royal court to decide what action will be taken to ward off the evil in this region of the King's hunting grounds on the 18th day of the 8th month by His majesty, King Exlir, ruler of the kingdom of Abbon Dwin and its northern provinces." The summoner handed Willifus a thin parchment; the woodward took it, though he could not read.

The warden retreated to the open door. "We have intruded upon this sorrow-filled house long." He gave orders for Jann to untether the horses for departure. As Willifus passed over the threshold, accompanying his guests in their leave-taking, the warden lingered to add a whispered warning. "It seems there is something to fear here. I have heard numerous reports from the foresters in diverse regions of the King's wood. What it is, I know not. I have no choice but to speak of the wolf and the confusion of your servant. Bring Jann, as well. Let the court decide whether he is possessed of some spirit."

Willifus' brows gathered in concern and the warden added, "I do not know what edict the judge will maintain. This matter is beyond the authority of my oversight."

He watched as Bodo mounted his steed with the torch of the riding servant lifted in preparation to give light to the way. The warden commiserated, "Good Kynd, I am sorry. Your children - but, if it should be decreed that this realm of the wood is cursed, you must be ready to go from it at once." The woodward saw the two men ride out before turning to Jann, who awaited his master's command.

Willifus spoke shortly, "Go. Tend to your work." Jann went hurriedly from his presence.

Gerta looked askance as Willifus returned inside. "What if he is possessed?" she said, speaking of Jann.

"He is not possessed, woman," Willifus responded in exasperation. Gerta turned and found a knotted surface on the table to scrub. She was discontent with so little explanation from her husband. Yet, she did not prompt him, but waited until he was ready to give her his words.

"Enough," he stilled her hand from her labor with his own. "I have something to show you. Do not be afraid; I have brought the girl home."

"But – did you not tell the warden-?" began Gerta.

"You will understand my reasons after you see. We will not bring light. You must follow close by me."

Willifus led his wife from the cottage, circumventing the servant's quarters to keep from being seen. He let out a breath as he passed beneath the shadow of the peasants' lodges upon an adjacent hill. The barn was little more than fifty paces, and he broke into a run, pulling Gerta with him. The moon seemed to smile down on the building as they drew near, casting a white aura of light. Just as Willifus reached for the door in anticipation, a dark shadow crept from beside the barn. Its eyes were the jarring color of tarnished copper. Willifus perceived at once that it was the wolf. He pushed Gerta behind him, simultaneously making the effort to grab at the ax still held fast in the hooks of the door. But, it was too late; the wolf had already lunged, tackling him to the ground.

* * *

King Danrud of Connara made his way to the palace that evening bristling at having his feasting shortened to attend another ceremony. He had been told he would no longer inhabit the place of honor nearest the King; instead, he would take the next place down. He had a sneaking suspicion that the sour-faced Yar who called himself a prince had voiced his discontent in not being shown due respect. Respect for a Yar! Whoever heard of such a thing! If Danrud had not been in the midst of his guard of knights, escorting him on horseback to the separate hall within the wall of Exlir's fortress, he would have spat upon the earth in distaste.

In this, Exlir had gone too far. The Kings of Abbon Dwin and Connara had held each other in high esteem for many years. Azsmor, the father of Exlir, had been a great friend and ally. In matters of strategic warfare, they had many times been of the same mind. While Danrud had desired to display equal regard for the son that he had had for the father, he had found it a challenge. Rexazsmor, as Exlir had originally been named, had inherited a great and mighty kingdom, having been trained abroad in methods of both warfare and diplomacy. Yet, it seemed the seeds of diplomatic instruction had been sown too deeply, leaving Rexazsmor too trusting. He had fallen in love with a Faere, returning to his homeland at the untimely demise of his mother, the Queen of Abbon Dwin. In all probability, his news had been the means of sending his father to the grave before his time. Rexazsmor had wished to form an alliance with Maithe! When the news had reached the ear of Danrud, he had thought it a jest. No treaty had ever been made with the Faere which did not end in slavery for the Kyndciant.

Yet, Danrud had agreed to the alliance between Connara and Abbon Dwin, when Rexazsmor had extended the hand of friendship. He had exercised what influence he could, promising Rexazsmor if he would marry a Kynd noblewoman, his son would be promised to a daughter of the king of Abbon Dwin. Still, Rexazsmor had married the Faere maiden, the daughter of Maithe, and had taken the name given him by the Faere Queen: "Exlir." Old king Danrud had felt the rebuff, but the slight was quickly forgotten when Exlir sent forces to aid Connara in defending the northern territories from the tribe of Yareil.

Now to be welcoming this Yar into the palace of the King of Abbon Dwin! Exlir was making a graver mistake; he was leaving himself too vulnerable. No Yar could be trusted outside the boundaries of one's kingdom, much less given the place of guest of honor! Danrud was greatly offended. So much so, that each step brought him closer to halting the procession and refusing to attend the token bestowal. What was this second ceremony but a Faere ritual! Had not the child been named and honored at noon? Had he not witnessed the betrothal of his son to the infant daughter of Exlir? His heart dropped to his stomach. It had been torture enough to find the Yar prince and his counselor standing by when he had presented his heir, Vyktre, vowing through the union that Connara and Abbon Dwin would one day be united by kinship once more.

He glanced beside him to the figure of his youngest boy astride his horse and pondered what would be Vyktre's fate. The child of seven was keeping pace, staring at the head of the guard before him. He held himself well, Danrud proudly admitted. Yet, it had never been his intent that this son should bear the name of King. It should have been Fieran; it should have been one of the six sons before this boy. Yet, Vyktre was all there was, the seventh son and the only heir remaining. The wrinkled face of the King creased a thousand-fold as Danrud considered the loss. Fieran, his true heir, was gone forever. Brash, stubborn boy! He had thought himself invincible; he had boasted to his brothers that he would conquer many lands before the crown ever touched his head.

Danrud entered the formal palace hall ready to be greatly incensed, but that emotion left his chest like the breath of air which escaped him. There were newcomers to the court; he counted ten, all hooded and standing apart from the rest of the nobility of Abbon Dwin. The whispers were many, and the old king caught the words, "…daughters of Maithe…" from the lips of one. What? More Faere? He glanced at the seat of honor, and felt slightly relieved to find another hooded figure placed there instead of the snarling Yar. His eyes wandered over the hall, searching for the Yar noble. He dropped his eyes quickly from the upper level of the room as he found the object of his search. The Yar prince had immediately perceived his intent, and, gazing out over the assembly from his place above, had given the Kyndciant king a scornfully hard look.

* * *

**A/N: Did you notice the name of Danrud's first son?**

Pronunciation Guide:

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Jann - Yawn

Numfverfolgt – Numf'-ver-fult

Connara – Con'-ner-uh

Danrud - Dan-rid

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Yar – Vor

Azsmor – Ahs'-mor' ('r' rolled)

Rexazsmor – Rex-ahs'-smor ('r' rolled)

Maithe - Mayth

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Yareil - Vor-ee-ale'

Vyktre – Vic'-ter

Fieran – Fee-air'-un


	16. Beyond the Bounds

Chapter 16 – Beyond the Bounds

Nivea awoke to the sounds of a door rattling. Small flecks of moonlight passed through the cracks of the wooden planks of the shed. She sat up, trying to recall what had occurred before she fell asleep. She had followed the man with the children. She reached out with her mind and felt the presence of the boy and of the girl. It shocked and tired her senses to hear their words inside her head again.

"Papa! Where are you, Papa?"

"Do not leave us to die here. We are frightened."

The rickety hinges on the door continued to jangle, until Nivea forced herself to ask, "Who is there?"

The noise stopped, and a strange voice whispered, "It is I, my dear."

For only a moment her Oma came to the girl's mind. Could the man with the ax have told her a lie? Was it possible her Oma was not dead?"

"Oma?" she whispered, hopefully.

"Yessss. Open the door to me," replied the voice. Though Nivea still wished to believe it, she knew it was not her grandmother who spoke.

"You are not my Oma," Nivea responded simply.

"But I am, my dear. Let me in, and you will sssee that I am Oma, child," returned the voice.

"No," Nivea replied; for she realized the familiar feeling surrounding her was not the presence of the boy and girl. Fear gripped her suddenly.

"You must not hear me well. It is this door. If you will only open it..." When Nivea did not respond, the voice spoke again. "If you will not open the door, I must find another who will."

The threat made Nivea retreat as far from the voice as she could manage. Terrified, she looked to find the boy of glowing eyes sitting up. He was standing. He was walking toward the door. He was pushing on the door. Nivea buried her head in her hands stricken with dread, unable to conceive of what might happen next. The door did not give way, and the boy shook it. Still it did not budge and Nivea opened her eyes to view him. He seemed to be in a trance, unaware of his actions. Nivea tried to call to the boy with her mind.

"Help me!" came the plea of the boy to her senses. "I must open the door. I must open it, but I am afraid," were his words. Nivea tried to speak to the boy, to tell him not to listen; but he could not hear her. She closed her eyes again, and, in desperation, tried to remember the feelings at the spring when the boulders had moved. She willed him to return to his former place, to come away from the door. He hesitated and ceased to shake the barrier. From the place near the floor next to her, the girl emerged. She crossed through the shafts of light created by the slits in the walls until she too reached the door. She began the shaking, and the hinges rattled ominously. Nivea found she could not still both the boy and the girl from their task. Again she huddled in the corner, waiting for the wood to give way at last.

It did give way. Nivea stared at the open portal, stunned as the wolf's eyes fixed upon her. He did not enter the shed. His bared his teeth, which shown in the glow of the moonlight. Something dark was dripping from them.

The creature growled and started toward her. Nivea cowered upon the dirt floor. "What a waste that I am filled and sated this night, but I will return for you," he told her.

She watched as the wolf turned away, and the boy and girl followed. Nivea heard the pleas of the children forcefully upon her mind. They did not want to go, yet they had no will to resist the wolf. She waited until she could no longer see the four-legged creature and his captives before she ran out. She could still glimpse them in the distance, and it was the sight of their figures helplessly following where the wolf would lead that decided the child. She would follow the children into the forest. As she ran forward, she tripped over a dark mass on the ground. She gasped as she recognized the hairy countenance of Willifus, the woodward. Without looking back, she fled into the forest.

Her mind was a tangle of thoughts. Where could she run? What could she do? What if the wolf espied her behind them? He had said he would come back; would she end up like the father of the children? A shudder ran through her; for now she had known death twice in a day. She glimpsed the silhouette of the boy ahead. She had always been capable of seeing well in the darkness, and this night it greatly aided her. She was able to stay some distance from the trio of forest wanderers advancing deeper into the wood.

The wolf began to increase his pace. The children seemed to fly, so swift were their legs in keeping up with him; it was Nivea who was left struggling to keep them in view. Where was the wolf taking them? Would they travel all the night? She felt wearied; but it was not by physical weakness, though she had had no bread for two days. Her mind felt stretched. She felt that the touch of the children's thoughts was like a jab to a tender bruise. The children were too far ahead. She could not keep the pace any longer. She dropped to her knees and tried to breathe. The air could not be inhaled quickly enough. Her lungs seemed to burst each time she took in breath. Yet, with each inhalation, her thoughts seemed to ease. Her head seemed to swim in grateful relief. She was drawing from the life around her, though she did not comprehend it. Just as she had done on the journey from the spring, each breath was nourishment to her.

Again she rose, refreshed, and knew the presence of the children. She sensed them and found she could run very quickly. There was exhilaration in the motion and breath, as she hurried to follow. Each deep lung-full gave her refreshment. Each inhalation increased the power of a life-force newly awakened.

Hours passed away as chaff upon the wind and on she ran. A haze of gray film began to cloud the sky as she reached the place where she sensed the trail of the wolf and children ended. She found nothing but a crumbling wall with a thin gap. She hesitated; the place was brimming with the ancient presence. The fear which had flooded through her before gripped her again. She could not go in there. She began to back away, when she heard the children's cries.

"No, not to her! She has done this!" The girl's plea echoed in Nivea's mind. Such pity did Nivea feel, such horror for the fate of the girl. She returned to the gap in the wall, peering into the graying light in the moments before dawn.

"You are lying to me, Iehdua," threatened a voice that was unfamiliar to Nivea. "Do you think you can destroy me? Do you think you can overthrow me? Never! What you have brought here does not equal me. You wish to know the extent of my power?"

"Wait! I vow to you, Malafiegr, I brought no one – but! She may have followed."

"She?"

"There is a small girl unlike any Kynd. I know not what she is; she calls to the wood and the wood obeys." Nivea backed away, perceiving that the wolf's words might be of her.

From the gap, Nivea saw a dark silhouette moving toward her from the other side of the wall. "Who are you, child?" it whispered pleasantly. Nivea felt rather than saw the enchantment which surrounded the figure. Yet, she did not wish to run. Who was this woman who ruled the wolf and knew of her presence? The stranger drew toward her, reaching the portal of collapsed stone. She was beautiful, her midnight skin sparkling with thousands of colors.

"I am Nivea," the girl whispered and watched as the enchantress drew back in surprise.

"Nivea!" Malafiegr repeated. Nivea watched as the wolf approached beside the Queen of Naut.

"Has she the Faere essence, Malafiegr?"

"Look to her skin; she is not of the Faere," she told Iehdua. The Queen of Naut spoke to Nivea. "Come to me, child."

Nivea did not step toward the wall.

Again Malafiegr held her arms out to the child. "Come to me, Nivea. Do you not trust me?"

"No. I do not," Nivea looked confused but determined.

Incredulity was on Malafiegr's countenance. "Tell me: what do you see before you?" Nivea did not know how to respond, and Malafiegr reiterated, "Look upon me and tell me what you see."

"A lady with skin of colors, and," Nivea hesitated, "eyes like green waters."

"Iehdua, she resists my enchantment! She is of the Nayar!" Malafiegr smiled. "You have done well this night, wolf."

The first beams of the dawn shot across the wood. "It is time," said Malafiegr. She told Iehdua, "You will guard the Yar child while I am away. Do not let her go from you, and you will be well rewarded for this!"

The wolf ventured from the gap in the wall toward Nivea. He opened his fierce jaw and chomped at the air, grinding his glistening black teeth in a menacing grin. "I will guard you well, Nivea," he threatened.

Nivea shuddered, but remained transfixed. The woman, what was she? She had not looked upon her with revulsion as the woodsman had done. She seemed to think she was special. "Where has she gone?" Nivea asked.

"Come, you will see," replied the wolf, leading her toward the opening in the wall again.

"I don't want to go there," Nivea replied, halting.

"Oh, yes." The wolf displayed an evil fleer. "You are right; it is much safer with me."

* * *

Prince Yarinthar of the tribe, Yarinburk, of the Far Northern ranges could hardly contain his animosity as he watched the hooded figures of the Faere princesses. Why did they not show their faces in the palace of the Kyndciant King? In his land it was discourteous to hide the face and eyes from nobility.

Yarinthar caught the eye of the elder Yar beside him. He could tell by the way Yaringamle gripped his side that he was struggling to keep from voicing his disdain for the guests of Exlir, as well.

"I will wait until the heir is presented," the Yar prince informed his guardian, "Then, if these ill-mannered Faere do not show themselves, I will-," The bells of the tower of Kraeftholo sounded the hour, and the procession of King Exlir entered. In the midst of his guard, the monarch was followed by his wife, whose golden-threaded head shimmered more brightly than the crown of gold upon it in the glow of the many candles and lanterns. In her arms she carried the child. Yarinthar had seen the Queen during the day-ceremony, but still he took in her countenance and her air. He prided himself in knowing that this Faere had no hold over him. No Faere did. He admitted that she was not ugly, but he was repulsed all the same. There was no good thing between the Nayar and the Faere. To him the Faere were nothing. They used their tricks to get their pleasures, but he would not be deceived.

He watched as the Queen of Abbon Dwin settled the sleeping child in the cradle and stepped forward to embrace the cloaked figures. Each Faere princess removed her covering from her head and kissed the Queen. As he glanced at each of their countenances, his throat constricted. Each he thought to be more beautiful than the last. He had difficulty prying his eyes from one to the next. In the dim light, Yarinthar could see a great contrast between the skin of the mantled Faere princesses and the sister-queen. Arisdona's onyx countenance seemed to disperse more than once, sometimes giving the appearance of graying skin. Yarinthar pondered this as he watched the Queen move to the smallest Faere sister, placed closest to the cradle.

Each sister, in turn, was given the honor of drawing nigh to the child and viewing her minutely as she slept. Each princess took the opportunity, but one. The youngest, the Faere closest to the cradle, did not turn her head in the child's direction. There was the slightest hesitation before the Faere, known as Aaliristo, presided over the ceremony.

"No one of Nayar descent has ever beheld a Faere token ritual, but one," Yaringamle said to the Yar prince in a low voice. Yarinthar wished to ask who the one had been, but was deterred.

Aaliristo ended his words and lifted his eyes to Yaringamle. It was supposed by the two Yar that words were not to be spoken, and they had given offense in so doing. This realization pleased Yarinthar, though he did not openly display his emotion.

One of the Faere princesses stepped forward and began to sing. Yarinthar was again dismayed to find the song moved him greatly. This realization made him heated with anger. Surely this was a spellbinding descant meant to ensnare him. He felt Yaringamle's hand grip his upper arm, admonishing him to master his wrath. It was all he could do to remain in his place. The Yar thought he must either stop the song by violent means or succumb to its potency.

Yet, he opened his eyes to find the serenade had ended and he was still himself; he had not been lured by the enchantment of the creature of music below him. He steadied himself, trying to prepare for what might occur thereafter. Verily the song of the Faere had been more difficult to fend off than an onslaught of fiercely bloodthirsty Yar warriors. He knew Yar combat well, and could only desire that he might meet a Faere who would refrain from any use of magic, and call him out in the true method of military engagement. In this Yarinthar would be victorious, he was certain.

The next portion of the proceedings involved a small, silver-looking ball. It fit snugly into the palm of the young Faere princess, who approached Queen Arisdona and, without words, presented it to her. What had this tiny, shining toy to do with the ceremony? He nudged Yaringamle, questioning the object without words. Yaringamle, being subject to his lord, was forced to speak. He whispered as succinctly as possible, "It is the token."

Now curiosity overtook Yarinthar. What? This little ball was the great Token? He was ready to laugh aloud. What a ridiculous ritual was this! "Hand the babe the ball; a little toy to amuse her," he thought, jestingly. Yet, the smile slid from his lips as he watched Arisdona place the object in the cradle; it began to float in mid-air from the hand of the heir of Exlir. Yarinthar could see the child's hand reach out from the folds of velvet, gold, and finest silken lace. The chubby golden fingers stretched toward the ball to retrieve it. The sphere caught the light and reflected it to distant corners of the hall. Even Yarinthar wished to touch it. It held the attention of every eye in the room. Those who viewed were hushed with anticipation, waiting for the babe to gain possession of the orb again. What would happen then?

Yarinthar would never know. At that precise moment a Yar plowed his way through the patrol guarding the entryway. "Make way for Yarymaopi," bellowed the Yar guard. Yarinthar watched as the Yar slung back the Kynciant soldiers who stood in his way with one simple swipe, as though he were a bear and simply enjoying the exercise of swinging his arms to and fro. The nobility backed away fearfully, and Yarinthar watched as a single Kynd followed behind the Yar guard. For a moment the sight confused the Yar prince watching overhead. Why would a paltry Kynd follow behind this white giant of the Nayar? He continued to wait for the one the guard had announced, but no one else appeared. Yet, the nobility stood back from the Kynd in awe. Yes, they were eyeing _him_ and not the Yar who came before!

* * *

**A/N: I finally get to introduce Yarinthar! The Nayar bring another dimension to the writing of this story for me. They are emotionally unemotional. Or maybe they're unemotionally emotional? Anyway, tempers flare easily, and strength and endurance is paramount in the nature and upbringing of a Nayar.**

Pronunciation Guide:

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Iehdua - Ee-eh'-doo-ah

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Yarinthar – Vor'-en-thor

Yarinburk – Vor'-en-berk

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Yar – Vor

Yaringamle –Vor'-en-goh-mel

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Kraeftholo - Krayft-hoh'-loh

Nayar – No-vor'

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na

Aaliristo - A'(like the letter)-al-eh-ris'-toh

Yarymaopi – Vorv'-may'-oh-pye


	17. A Foe Like None Other

Chapter 17 – A Foe Like None Other

"What is this ruse?" Yarinthar declared, standing up.

But, just as the words escaped his lips, the Kyndciant began to glow and his shape changed. Yarinthar watched in astonishment. "My lord," his counselor advised, "We must remove from this place."

Yarinthar stood immovable as the figure of a Faere woman appeared in the place of the Kyndciant man. She was shining, black as midnight, with eyes of swirling green like the cloud of flame unfurling around her. From her silver fingertips flowed thin streams of fire which traveled the circumference of the room until it encompassed the Faere princesses and the ambassador, bursting upward and creating a fiery prison for each one.

"Yarinthar! We must arm ourselves!" Yaringamle took the wing they had traversed when entering the palace, which led to the grandest of Abbon Dwin's colonnaded gardens. His figure was hunched to avoid the intermittent stone entablatures dividing the rooms through which he ran. Yarinthar was fast on his heels. When the upper story opened up into the formal peristylium, Yaringamle swung himself from the belvedere, a large leap even for a Yar of his stature. The stone floor quaked under the full force of his weight as he landed.

He lifted his hand to halt the one who followed him, for Yarinthar was ready to leap as well. Yarinthar watched as the older Yar strode toward an elegantly painted door with a symbol upon it that was fourfold in diameter the width of Yaringamle's chest. A composite of colorful stones decorated the center, creating a picture of a rearing horse with wings: the crest of the Kyndciant King of Abbon Dwin. There was no soldier guarding it; all had rushed to the king's aid.

It took some effort for Yaringamle to pry open the iron door, but it soon gave way. Shortly thereafter he returned with what Yarinthar considered to be two rather flimsy angons. It was with great irritation that Yarinthar considered that the ruler of Abbon Dwin had not seen fit to return to them their war hammers upon entering the city. In the great mount of Yarinburk, no warrior was without his arms at any turn.

Yaringamle ignored the look of disdain on Yarinthar's countenance as he handed the barb-ended weapons to his ward. "The guard was most definitely of a tribe. But what was the second?" Yarinthar asked, as he gripped below the heads of metal with two hands. The older Yar took hold of the lower ends and used the weapons to make a pendulum swing toward the edge of the balcony. He caught hold of the balustrade on his second attempt and hauled himself onto the level where Yarinthar stood.

"His name was given as 'maopi'," answered Yaringamle with a dry smile. "It means 'imposter' in the old tongue," he explained as he was handed the second angon.

"But why would a Yar guard a Kynd?" asked Yarinthar incredulously from behind him.

"I know not," the guardian said, bending his head again to make his return, "but I know this of a certainty: a Kyndciant who can direct a Yar is a foe like none I have known."

* * *

Tholke was wavering in limbo. At first, he was in the King's palace, being presented by Yaryellig. He had entered behind the giant as Malafiegr had instructed him. Then, suddenly, he was not there. He was transfixed, yet could see that he was standing in the forest beside the wall. At his feet were the boy and the girl he had hidden. Was he dreaming? He heard the words vaguely in his mind,

_Great King Exlir, do not attempt to restrain me; it will be the worse for you. I am Lafiegr, heir of Eniegrluth. I am the true voice of the Shield of Prye. Long ago, I was betrayed by Casceadanet, my sister and the foremother of Maithe's line._

While Tholke listened to the words of Malafiegr in his head, he realized that she was within the palace in his place. Seeing the wall and the children, he realized she had found them. The wolf called Iehdua slowly approached. Tholke attempted to call out, to stop the brute from harming the children. But the wolf took no interest in them; instead the beast turned his snout, matted with dried blood, and looked behind at what followed him through the wall. From the misty rays of light, Tholke watched as Nivea – his Nivea! – stepped through the gap of crumbling stone.

"No!!" he screamed, but could not hear his own words; they were lost in Malafiegr's speech.

_For this cause, my feud is with the house of Maithe, with these twelve who gather to honor the child of blood and essence. Twelve princesses indeed! Twelve usurpers who wear the name of daughter to the Queen! Maithe is nothing, you see. The essence of the ancestors grows faint within her. The prophecy of Alugona foretold of a new era with her passing; a returning to the strength of Eniegrluth's reign._

Tholke simultaneously heard the triumph in the voice of the Queen of Naut, and felt the anguish of seeing the beautiful child he had tried to protect look upon him in horror and fear. Nivea ran toward him and flung herself on him. For a moment the chain between Malafiegr and Tholke was broken. Tholke was there, holding his Nivea.

"You must go from here," he told her. "Go and never return."

Nivea's lovely black eyes were wide with fear. "I cannot leave you, Papa. I cannot. Please, Papa." Her tears filled them.

"Here; you must take this. It is all I have," he spoke in desperation. He reached into his tunic and brought forth the card, his only comfort and treasure. She accepted his gift with perplexity. He felt a familiar pull upon his senses, and knew that Malafiegr was claiming him. He tried to speak to Nivea, to tell her to flee while there was still time, but he could not. The boy and the girl, who lay at his feet, opened their eyes. Beams of golden light shot from them; the rays shown upon him. A great force flooded through his Kyndciant frame, just as it had done when he had walked through the fire before Malafiegr. Again he felt the power of it lash him, only there seemed to be no end to the wave that washed over. He could do nothing but suffer under the overwhelming battering of its influx.

He could see Nivea's lips speak, but could not hear it. He knew he was crumpling under the strain. He was weaving in and out of consciousness, yet Malafiegr kept him from entirely collapsing. Her power would not let him go, he knew, until he broke completely. This was the reason she had needed him. She was siphoning the children's forces, using him as a conduit through which that strength could be manipulated.

As though he were a lodestone, he was now drawing life force from facets of the Queen's realm within the wall. He was engulfed by the energy, unable to see or know what occurred around him. He knew only that he would die soon.

* * *

King Danrud, fully alert, had been watching between the shoulders of his knights, as the Yar guard and his Yar lord had broken through. A small voice within him had rejoiced that he had anticipated such an event; and yet, never had he envisioned that the Yar would be changed before his eyes into a Faere!

In her hand, the Faere held a black scepter. Encased at the tip was a spherical object, not dissimilar from the token bestowed upon Exlir's child. Yet, this orb was black and surrounded in green tongues of flame.

She spoke to the king. She proclaimed herself the true Queen of the Faere. How could this be true? He had never heard of Lafiegr! Then he realized he was gazing upon Malafiegr, one he had thought to be a myth. Yet, she was real and bent upon vengeance against Maithe. Would they all die to satisfy this feud between those who were not of his ilk? The Faere princess who held the King's seat of honor spoke through the flames.

"Nay, Lafiegr; you are a murderess. You were not betrayed, but thrust from your kindred because of your own evil-doing."

Malafiegr caused the prison of fire to cease around Exlir's guest of honor. The young Faere seemed to be speaking through a trance. Above her open palm hovered a ball surrounded by white mist. Just as the token of Exlir's heir, it was silvery in color.

Malafiegr answered the white-eyed one. "I knew you would come to me, Maithe. You cannot protect your children. This heir through whom you speak cannot yet summon forth the essence of the Faellyn. It is now your time to pay for the deeds of Casceadanet, as I was punished for the deeds of another."

The Faere youth addressed King Exlir. "Give me leave and my troops are at your command this hour."

"Nay, Maithe," Malafiegr warned. "Consider what is in my hand." Danrud watched as Malafiegr lifted the child's silver orb. The little one within the cradle reached her arms toward the sphere. The token seemed to call to the child, and the daughter of Exlir would obey its claim upon her. She began to climb out of the cradle, all the while reaching for the sphere in the evil Faere's hand.

Exlir stood and made as though he would come between them, but Malafiegr merely gave a small gesture and the flames encircled to detain him. "Would you have me direct my ire toward these Kynds?" threatened the vengeful Faere to the one of her race.

"Tempt not the child, _benemet_," the young Faere in the trance beseeched. She placed herself between the evil Queen and the heir of Abbon Dwin. "What is she to you?"

"Do not presume to sway me, Maithe! I know the ancient law, and this travesty of blood and essence is forbidden. You accuse me of murder; yet, you shield this heinous crime of your own offspring! I will see to justice, the true justice of my father, Eniegrluth!"

"If you wish to kill the child, then you must go through me."

Danrud involuntarily shrank back at the expression of outright bloodlust in Malafiegr's eyes at the young Faere's challenge. "So be it!" shouted the enchantress, as she directed her scepter at the head of the child-like Faere.

Danrud watched the green light burst from the sphere. Yet, a transparent shield of shifting currents encompassed the child-like one. The spark of the scepter glanced off the enchantment, ricocheting into another flaming prison. The circle of fire released the older sister of silken gray tresses, who disappeared, only to reappear simultaneously before Exlir's babe. The older Faere caught up the little one and prevented Malafiegr's attack upon her with her own rippling shield. The bolt of Malafiegr's fury was again misdirected to release another Faere from her prison. The Faere who had sung the beseeching melody was now freed, and her shape shifted to that of a male Faere armored in prismatic adamantine attire; it refracted the light of the flames, a means of blinding the opponent's view of the adversary.

The Kyndciant King's army fanned the perimeter of the hall and attacked with swords unsheathed. Each head, arm, and chest was covered in metal panoply; the design of the winged horse spanned each soldier's breast. Malafiegr's Yar guarded the onslaught of Exlir's army, directing his strength in disallowing the warring men of Kraeftholo to draw near to his mistress. Cries of anguish went up as Kyndciant soldiers, breaking through the defense of the giant, met the incinerating heat of the Queen of Naut's fiery protection.

This was the sight that met Yarinthar's eyes as he reentered the second level of the great hall. Convinced that the Yar guard, who had forced his way into the presence of the King, was not bent upon calling out the Yarinburk prince, Yaringamle and his ward were disposed to fight him all the same. Having procured weapon enough, they joined the foray. The armies of the Kyndciant King came in droves, but Yarinthar simply pushed through them, traversing the ranks with great agility. The guard of the Faere woman was breaking the lines toward Yarinthar, as well. The force of his opposition sent sparks flying in his wake, as his flint-like skin contacted the breastplates of the small Kynds.

Malafiegr took no notice of them. Her attention was arrested by the Faere princesses who were being loosed from captivity around her. Four of the daughters had called upon the essences of mates, who now appeared in their stead. The sisters continued to protect each other with enchantments, fending off the wicked Faere's assaults upon each sibling by creating a web of confusion, while the Faere warriors of the Shield were launching their own attacks.

The Queen of Naut began to summon the life forces of those servants within her enchantment. Triumph spread over her features, for her great curse would cause the essence of all those before her to be driven from that temporal sphere. Her power had not yet reached its zenith; yet, she was impatient to have her revenge. Her hatred had risen above reason or judgment long ago; she would destroy all to prevail! She temerariously directed the force gathering within her to her token; the metal rod shook in her hand, and the ground beneath began to quake under the weight of the power it held.

The palace began to hum, as though the might contained within the building made it groan aloud. The evil Faere concentrated to harness the flood of energy. At that moment, the voice of Maithe resounded through the great room. "Yr mnat dle'sretetdwra nah't comaibyth yr hestje," spoke Maithe through Wynndh, as she held her token aloft.

From Wynndh's token erupted a screaming flash of white light, which caused the sphere of Malafiegr to burst asunder. Its energy, liberated and traveling by way of the scepter, tore the dark hand of the Queen of Naut. She transferred the pain to Tholke, her other body, and summoned the escaping force of her essence. Without her token, she could not reclaim any power lost to her. Maithe's aim had been true; but young Wynndh dropped to the floor, spent by the trial.

Frantically, Malafiegr turned upon the one who could not resist her spell, and lifted the silver sphere of Exlir's heir. "Ii't neter-bohem hestroddi lubru. Neter-da'laet, da'laet sret, enwijen Dwra a't dybiddje kudubh. Yr amasr neter-plaos galdtje, la khetbyth mur neter-bietje sarganen ii'nentje!" Malafeigr held up the child's token and kissed it. No one could prevent the call upon the Faellyn, and the tortuous essence within the Queen of Naut might have its victory over the babe! The Faere within the room watched in horror. Would the Faellyn magic grant the evil gift of Malafiegr? In answer, the sphere's silver hue was enveloped in the blackest midnight, a twin to the sphere Maithe had shattered.

* * *

**A/N: This scene is reminiscent of "Sleeping Beauty," is it not?**

Faere Translations:

"Benemet" (ben-eh-may) means kinswoman.

Wynndh's spell is translated, "This token of the one without hope, may it do its master's bidding nevermore."

Malafiegr's spell is translated, "From the dark essence, my gift is given. Child of essence, child of blood, you are named Dwra because you know darkness. From the hour of your awakening (this speaks of the essence awakening, generally at sixteen), the sun will not set until your tainted essence perishes in death."

Pronunciation Guide:

Yaringamle –Vor-en'-gah-mel

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Yarinthar – Vor'-en-thor

maopi – may'-oh-pye

Yarinburk – Vor'-en-berk

Kynd – Kend

Tholke – Thul'-kye

Yaryellig – Vorv'-e-lig

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Lafiegr – Luh-fay'-air (original Faere name of Malafiegr)

Eniegrluth - Ee-nayr'-luth

Casceadanet – Cash-yuh'-da-nay'

Maithe - Mayth

Iehdua - Ee-eh'-doo-ah

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Alugona - A(like the letter)-loo'– guh– na

Danrud - Dan'-rid

Kraeftholo - Krayft-hoh'-loh

Dwra – Dwar'-uh


	18. The An and the Heir

Chapter 18 – The An and the Heir

Nivea could not leave her father; she could not move from that place. The ancient wood seemed to be swirling about her in torrents. She watched as Iehdua backed away and knew that he, too, felt the maelstrom surrounding them. Her father was somehow receiving the power she had only recently realized existed. She could feel his anguish; he was being swallowed up by it. The panic rising within her only caused the boy's cries to become more insistent in her ears.

"What is happening?" he pleaded. "Heta! Heta!"

Nivea could feel Heta's existence fading. The Kyndciant child was being drained, and the fountain of life within her was ebbing. She would soon be no more.

Nivea's reaction was to scream. She fell upon her knees and instinctually embraced the prone girl of ten. Suddenly, she felt the pull upon Heta's vitality cease. The boy called to his sister again for her to help him. Nivea called to the girl, as well, and, to her surprise, the girl answered by opening her eyes! Heta's eyes were no longer filled with the yellow light.

Now Nivea felt the life leaving boy's body. The fibers of his existence were slipping away swiftly. The summoning of his life-force was strong, and she reached to take his hand, concentrating with all of her being. Why was her Papa being used this way? She perceived that her father was enduring searing pain. She knew that he was teetering upon destruction. She reached out with her mind to her father. As she did so, a barrier of jade-colored fire burst upwards around him. The fire flickered strangely and Nivea could see the silhouette of a dark woman within the flames. She reached out her hands, screaming, "Papa! Papa!" In her hand remained the white card, and it was glowing. It was struggling in her grasp to fly into the fire, but she clung to it. She could not let the card go; her Papa had given it to her. Yet, the pull of it to the flame was intensely strong.

Her father's words were in her head. "Let me go, Nivea. I must go."

"No, Papa!"

"It is too much for me, child. I can not endure this."

"Papa, please!"

And, suddenly, as though the magnet turned to repel that which was being drawn, Nivea was flung back upon the ground between the two children.

And Malafeigr stood before her.

* * *

Yarinthar could feel the heat of the flames around the fiery Faere increase, and she was gone. The conflagration in the midst of the palace dispersed, leaving only charred lines upon the marble floors and fluted columns. Two remained. The Yar guard dropped to his knees and gave no further fight as the soldiers of Exlir surrounded him.

A single prostrate Kynd lay in the place where Malafiegr had stood. Arisdona gasped when she saw him, and Yarinthar perceived that he no longer looked to be a Yar to them.

"It is he!" she exclaimed. Yet, her voice was hardly above a whisper. "He was there when the essence went from me," she spoke; and, forthwith, she fainted. The Faere princesses ran to assist their failing sister, and the King of Abbon Dwin ordered his guard to seize the Kynd. The prone man gave no resistance; for he was unconscious.

Lord Thridus hurried forward to view the limp prisoner. "Your Majesty," spoke he. "There is but little breath; he is near to death."

Yarinthar and his guardian watched the Kynd soldiers drag Malafeigr's giant before the throne. King Exlir stood before him. Even upon the platform steps above, the King stood eye to eye with him. "What do they call you, Yar?"

The dark eyes within the white face merely glared at the king contemptuously.

"Your Highness, he gave his name at the gate as Yaryellig," Thridus answered.

"Yaryellig, from what tribe do you descend?" the king tried again. Yarinthar perceived the Kyndciant king's fist tighten as the Yar continued to bore his eyes into Exlir's.

"Have him flogged. See if that does not loosen his tongue," the King commanded.

"King Exlir." Yarinthar spoke the words with pride, "The tribes of the Nayar answer to no one but the leader of the mountain. No amount of beating will give you the answers you desire. A Yar is trained to hold his tongue to the death. If you will permit it, I would wish to address this Yar warrior." As Yarinthar spoke, he noted the sign of caution from Yaringamle. At the king's command, the Kyndciant soldiers shifted to give Yarinthar access to go before Exlir's throne.

Young Yarinthar stood before Yaryellig and gave a nod of respect. "You have done much mischief in this place, _dragyar_." It was spoken as a compliment instead of a reproof. "Whose hand provoked you to carry out this deed?"

"My leader is Malafiegr of the mount Yaryth. I will speak no more."

Yarinthar's face grew dark with rage. His jaw trembled with his attempts to control himself. "King Exlir, this man is a traitor of the Nayar. He is no Yar at all; he is An! You would do best to have him put to death. I shall carry this out immediately." He lunged for Yaryellig, knocking him to the ground. The crack of the rock-like hardness of the flesh of the two warriors struck the marble.

The King called for order and his soldiers raced to pull the one off the other; for only Yarinthar dealt blows. After some struggle, Yaringamle was able to separate the two.

"Why do you not fight, _zyarat_? Your warriors did well enough when my people came against you in the East. Oh, I remember now. They fled like the wild dogs they are!" Yarinthar threw out his chest, and from his throat came a sound meant to provoke. Yaringamle stepped between the two giants as he spoke to the king.

"My Lord Yarinthar forgets himself. There is a blood feud between the inhabitants of Mount Yaryth and those of Yarinburk. Yet, we are guests of your realm."

The King, his surprise clearly expressed, responded, "Verily Lord Yaringamle, I would show respect to the tribe of Yarinburk. If there is no means of receiving any further thing regarding Malafiegr's discontent from this -," he gestured to Yaryellig, unsure of what to label him. "And if your feud must be satisfied by the death of this champion of Malafiegr's, you are granted your way. Only let the bloodshed take place beyond my borders. I would not have the tribes speak of Abbon Dwin as having any part in Nayar matters."

"Your word is just, King Exlir," spoke Yaringamle. "We must take our leave from your hospitality this very hour. We wish you no discourtesy; yet I perceive you to be knowledgeable of our customs, that no friend of a Nayar tribe is permitted to try the enemy. This traitor must be brought before the _opleyar_ of Yarinburk. In so doing, I will see that any information from this Faere enemy of your kingdom," the elder Yar lord stretched out his sinewy arm, indicating the place where Malafiegr had been only moments before, "will be relayed to you by our messengers."

King Exlir called for his men to see to the departure of Yaringamle, his charge, and their prisoner of the mount Yaryth. The Kyndciant soldiers escorted them from the palace. The small, red-tufted figures, as they lead the Nayar giants, were a sight indeed.

* * *

Aaliristo oversaw the transference of Arisdona and her youngest sister, Wynndh to the Queen of Abbon Dwin's chambers. There she was surrounded by the eleven, whose troubled gazes flickered to one another. They had known from the moment their ailing sister had entered the hall what afflicted her, even if they could not have seen it with the eye. Those of the Faere could perceive the weakened essence while in the presence of one of their race.

Folora spoke. "She pronounced that it was the Kynd who took her essence. How can this be?"

"It is beyond my understanding. I would wish advice from Maithe." Aaliristo turned to Wynndh, whose colors were rippling unevenly upon her countenance as she returned his stare.

"My token," she whispered, and Tanetenet uncovered the silver orb from the folds of her cloak. She lifted it and attempted to summon the Queen of the Faere. Nothing changed. The orb did not hover, but rested in her hand. Her power to reach out to Maithe was gone. She opened her eyes and spoke, "Maithe cannot hear me, nor I her. Maithe _jylo_ has called out the Faellyn essence from me before my time." The distraught Faere seemed to speak as though she was not aware of her words, and Norca gasped and flung her arms around her sister. The heir of the Shield of Prye had broken the ancient law. Her right to the throne had been forfeited by the act.

From the one whom Ana held came a gurgle. It brought every tear-shaped eye to gaze upon the cursed child. "What of Dwra?" spoke Miichl aloud.

"Hold your tongue that Risdona may not hear your words," whispered Ana reproachfully.

"It is her name now," Uld responded gently.

"Why would the essence of the Faellyn allow of such a wicked thing?" questioned Illdaen angrily.

"The gift has been accepted. We must think on what will be done to protect her from the vow of the murderess," Folora returned.

Attention was drawn by the noise of Arisdona waking. "We cannot speak here," said Ceolye. "We cannot upset our sister."

"I will tend to the child and Arisdona," Ana volunteered. The sister held most beloved would be there when the Queen of Abbon Dwin awoke.

Aaliristo did not bend the King's ear on the matter of his daughter and wife until later in the day, when he was called to Exlir's council room.

"My friend, I am undone. What is this work of Malafiegr? No Kyndciant wisdom can guide me. My child is not safe. My wife -!"

"Your Majesty, Dwra must go to Maithe."

Anger flared in the king's eye as the new name was spoken, but Exlir only folded his head into his hands. "Oh, I can not recall her true name." His voice was filled with grief.

"It is the power of the Faellyn. Malafiegr's curse has been granted, and Dwra is her name."

Exlir looked into the pale blue eyes of the dark Faere. "What is this evil?"

"Your Highness, there is a greater power beyond that of the Faere. Our ancestors, the Faellyn of the sea, had a lifespan the length of two centuries. We, of the Faere, draw our strength from this lineage. Lafiegr, the heir of King Eniegrluth, descended from a Faellyn. _Ma_ Lafiegr endures long because of the pureness of her essence. Her power is also mingled; I know not what she has done to mingle it, but her token was blackened. It is a sign of a dark essence."

"Is there no hope then?"

"Grant me leave to return to Prye-d'lan with the child; I will present her to Maithe. Only my Queen can protect her now." When Exlir did not answer, Aaliristo continued. "Her daughters will transport on the eve of this day and I will go with them. I will see to Dwra's safety, good King."

Exlir did not outwardly express any gratitude, and Aaliristo's next words were spoken all the more solemnly. "I have summoned Alugona. Only she will know what can be done to save Arisdona."

* * *

**A/N: Aaliristo gives a little background about the Faere and their Faellyn relatives. Was his explanation helpful?**

Nayar terms:

_dragyar_ - a sign of respect, and a complimentary title used by tribesmen and those Yar on peaceful footing. It means, "ghost warrior."

_zyarat_ – traitor

_opleyar_ means "the experienced." They are the king's council and comprise the oldest Nayar of Yarinburk.

Pronunciation Guide:

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Iehdua - Ee-eh'-doo-ah

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Yarinthar – Vor'-en-thor

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Yar – Vor

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na

Thridus - Tri'-dus

Yaryellig – Vorv'-e-lig

Yaringamle –Vor-en'-gah-mel

Dragyar – drog'-vor

Yaryth - Vor'-vut

Zyarat – zvor'-ot

Yarinburk – Vor'-en-berk

Nayar – No-vor'

Opleyar – oh'-pluh-vor

Aaliristo - A'(like the letter)-al-eh-ris'-toh

Wynndh –Win'(wh creates a whistling sound)-nuh

Folora - Fa-lor'-uh

Tanetenet - Tah-nay'-teh-nay'

jylo - shy-loh

Faellyn – Feh'-llyn ('ll' as pronounced in Welsh)

Prye – Pree

Ana - Aw'-nah

Dwra – Dwar'-uh

Miichl - Meh'-kul

Risdona – Ris-doh'-na (original Faere name of Arisdona)

Uld - Oo'-uld

Illdaen - Eyell (Welsh 'll')-day-een'

Lafiegr – Luh-fay'-air (original Faere name of Malafiegr)

Eniegrluth - Ee-nayr'-luth

Prye'dlan - Pree-ed'-lun

Alugona - A(like the letter)-loo'– guh– na


	19. Protectors

Chapter 19 – Protectors

"Take her," Malafiegr spoke of Heta. "Iehdua, she is your reward."

Nivea stared upon the cloaked figure of the Queen of Naut. The white child, weakened by the trial, could not comprehend the words of the Faere woman.

The hood which concealed the queen's head bent toward Nivea. "Come," she told her, turning toward Naut.

Nivea questioned, "Where is my Papa?"

"I will lead you to him; he is waiting for you." The child's large black eyes stared at the caliginous mountain suspiciously. But her heart was full of yearning, and she desired to follow the Queen.

"Malafiegr!" Iehdua demanded. "I deserve more than the blood of this small Kyndciant girl. Give me Nivea, as well."

Malafiegr responded impatiently, "You have blood as we agreed."

"No!" Nivea screamed out, understanding Iehdua's intent. She placed herself between the wolf and his prey.

"You see, she wants to stay," cajoled the conniving beast. "Let me drain them both!"

"Go from me!" Malafiegr rasped, provoked by his attempted haggling. It was then that Nivea perceived the loss of power within the Faere. Her strength was gone from her, and she was not alone in realizing it.

Iedua's hungry yawp of triumph echoed in Nivea's ears as the wolf leapt at the Queen. Nivea watched as Malafiegr's palm splayed out to stop him; a hideous looking gash, blanched and oozing some milky substance, extended from fingers to forearm. As his fangs bit into her injured limb, she shrieked in anguish and vanished.

The wolf seemed stunned for a moment, but quickly turned to Nivea. He spat upon the earth. "Who wants essence when there is blood to be had!" The force of his forepaws brought Nivea to the ground in front of Heta. Her arm shielded her face and he clamped his terrible teeth down on it. They grated upon the limb like a chisel upon a diamond. He tried again before she could grasp what had occurred. This time shavings of his teeth fell upon her face. He backed away, stunned. Nivea felt Heta's hands grasp her shoulders. The girl of ten was trying to hide behind the figure of the four-year-old.

Iehdua shook his head as though he had just experienced a shock to his senses. Collecting himself, he told Nivea, "I shall give you one chance to run."

Nivea did not run; she knew she must stay to protect the Kynd girl. "Go away," she told Iehdua.

"You would do better to let me have the Kynd. Death is preferred to what she would suffer should I only bite her." The wolf began to circle the two. Heta continued to use Nivea as a shield, shifting on her knees to stay behind the child. "Would you like to be changed into a beast forever, Nivea?" he asked, before snapping at Heta's leg. Nivea brought her small fist down on his snout.

"Go away," she told him again.

"I will never go away," he responded. "I will stay with you until you have no strength left to fight me. You are no match for me, child."

"Would you say the same of me?" The voice seemed to come from midair. Heta and Nivea watched as Willifric appeared, landed a meager punch on the top of Iehdua's head, and disappeared again.

"Where is he?" Heta asked in amazement as Willifric emerged from the misty air in mid-leap, as though flying, and vanished. The wolf saw his chance when Heta's attention was drawn toward her brother. Nivea nearly missed his second attempt to snatch the Kynd girl from her.

Willifric transported again. Iehdua was close to biting him, but the boy ceased to be before the wolf could clamp his jaws. In that moment Heta had had time to get to her feet. She continued to hunch behind Nivea, who, though tall for her years, was still a good foot below the older girl's height. Iehdua was infuriated.

"Tell your brother I'll take care of him once I'm done with you!" He lunged for Heta, without regard to Nivea. His fang grazed the white child's shoulder, clinking like metal on stone.

Willifric kicked the wolf's back, and the wolf swiftly turned on him. The boy could barely escape quickly enough. Iehdua made chase; Willifric was near to being caught, for he had no great skill in his newly-acquired ability. Nivea ran for the opening in the wall and dragged Heta with her.

"We can't get out…" gasped Heta.

"Go through," Nivea directed, leading toward the portal in the wall. Heta screamed, and Nivea turned in time to see Iehdua hurtling towards the Kynd girl. Nivea steeled herself and took the onslaught. The wolf's left fang collided with Nivea's head, shattering the tip. His howl echoed through the forest beyond.

Heta's eyes were closed as Nivea pulled her through the opening. "Run."

"I can't run," Heta told her. "I am too tired."

"But you ran with the wolf. You ran very fast." Even as Nivea spoke, she knew that what Heta told her was true. Whatever had been inside the Kynd child, whatever had called to Nivea, was now gone from her.

She did not know how to hide the older girl from the attacker. Iehdua would come through the aperture, and Nivea could not continue to restrain him forever. As though her horror beckoned to him, his iridescent eyes appeared through the mist beyond the boundary of Naut. Nivea could see his left fang was shortened.

"You're going to pay dearly, Nivea!" At the malice beneath his threat, she involuntarily shuddered, and he began to circle her again.

"You're a sorry wolf with only the one fang now," taunted Willifric, appearing behind Iehdua. He began pelting the wolf with rocks. Iehdua took no notice; nor did he retreat when Nivea backed toward the wall again. In his fury, the wolf did not notice that Heta did not follow. His eyes were only on Nivea.

"You are like glass to be broken into splinters!" he told her. Nivea's eyes betrayed her; she looked to Heta's progress as the ten-year-old backed away. Iehdua suddenly realized his oversight. Heta begin to run. Iehdua made one leap, and would have had the Kynd girl; but, just as the wolf made to tackle her, Nivea saw Willifric grab her under the arms and attempt to disappear with her. She could tell by the Kynd girl's screams that the wolf had inflicted some wound. Yet, Willifric appeared, evanished, and reappeared. He seemed unable to control his actions. The wolf made a few pounces, almost like a kitten chasing a toy, before Willifric was finally able to escape with his sister, dematerializing altogether.

All was quiet as Iehdua turned on her, slinking towards the small white girl. "There is no one to rescue _you_, Nivea."

At this, a strange wind began to blow, just as it had done that first meeting. The wolf looked around him warily. Nivea concentrated; in her mind all she wanted was for the wolf to go away. She thought of the lake lady and wished with all her being to be beside her at the spring.

Suddenly, the woods around her began to ripple and evanesce. She could hear Iehdua's grating, "No!" She closed her eyes just as he charged, but felt only an unexpected breeze race across her brow. She breathed in the salty air deeply, expecting to feel the refreshing of her strength. Yet, it was strangely stagnant, as though there was no verdurous life to draw. She was not at the water's edge at Numfverfolgt, as she had imagined. Instead, she was sitting upon a rocky shore with the subdued waves of the ocean, purling to stretch its last caresses at her feet. Behind her stood the great, needle-like spires of a brooding fortress atop an obsidian mountain.

* * *

The ten Faere sisters consulted with one another all the day, trying to perceive some way to save the child, Dwra, from the fate that awaited her at Malafiegr's hand.

"We must bring her to Prye'dlan. Maithe _jylo_ can protect her there," Ejeder asserted.

"I am skeptical," Miichl argued. "Would it not be Malafiegr's greatest wish that she should be moved there? She has Dwra's token; she has the capability to use her to infiltrate the Shield."

"What? Use a tiny child?" Ceolye responded.

"She will not be tiny long; and once she is granted entrance into the gateway, _ma_ Lafiegr will give the babe no rest," Chlknet whispered, her manner fearful.

"Yes," Illdaen added, "_Ma_ Lafiegr only craves a window. She would not consider the capabilities of the child in using her to break through to Maithe; but would destroy her prematurely, if her obsession required it."

"Then where can Dwra go where _ma_ Lafiegr will not know of her presence?" Ceolye asked.

The sisters were silent. They could think of no place to conceal Dwra where the wicked Faere could not find her out.

When Folora spoke, her sisters saw the stirring of her essence in her features. "This is an evil which no Faere of the Shield can dispel. Do you not see what will happen if Dwra dies? The _sretetdwra_ will own her token. Once _ma_ Lafiegr knows of the fall of Wynndh – that there is no heir to rule the Shield! - she will bring war upon our Queen mother." Folora interlaced her shining black fingers and sighed. "War will come whether Dwra is with Maithe _jylo_ or no. We have no recourse but to remove her to Prye'dlan. We have given our gifts and there is no enchantment that can undo the wickedness of _ma_ Lafiegr. Only our _Xin jylo_ can protect her now."

"I have not given a gift," Wynndh spoke, lifting her head which had been resting in the lap of her sister, Norca.

Norca contested, "You cannot, Wynndh. The power of the Faellyn has already taken much from you for your spell."

Wynndh spoke softly but with determination. "I am the one who touched the token of the heir of Exlir and did not bestow an honor."

"You would risk so much?" Uld asked. "Child, you do not know what may be required of you. You have called forth the power of the Faellyn once already," spoke she who bore the burden of foresight.

"Have I? Maithe _jylo_ spoke through me; it was not I," Wynndh replied.

"_Teith_!" cautioned Norca, as Wynndh raised her sphere.

"This I grant to the child of King Exlir and Queen Arisdona." Her sisters seemed frozen; fearful for the consequences, yet hopeful that this bestowal might succeed. _"Yr baktje cohnai yr da'leat, Dwra, ii'mnatdilyste diffrwy neter-bohem."_

Immediately, as Wynndh lowered her own token to bestow the kiss that would seal her promise, she was halted by Uld's words:

"Youth of Faellyn spirit,

Daughter true of valor,

Protector of the golden one;

'Til evil passes over.

-

Yoked beneath great duty;

Doomed to suffer loss.

Bound to guide, a restless light;

For she must pay the cost."

-

Norca's eyes filled with tears as Wynndh pledged herself with her kiss. The sisters understood that Wynndh was fated to receive penalty. Yet, only time would manifest what would be the sentence of the youngest daughter of Maithe. Wynndh did not allow sorrow to turn her from her purpose, but breathed in deeply; steeling herself for the burden she would bear for many years.

* * *

**A/N: So Nivea has experienced her first transporting. What do you think will be Wynndh's punishment?**

Faere Translation

Wynndh's words: "This servant is bound to this child, Dwra, in protectorship from the dark essence."

_Mnatdilyste_ – a Faere protector who binds him or herself to another. It is a noble act of voluntary servanthood. It is similar to the rights of heirship in that a _mnatdilyste_ can speak and perform magic through the one being protected, but it is not heirship.

Heirship: a natural process, meaning no Faere can bestow it. It comes upon a child of Faere nobility at birth. If it does not occur, or the bond is lost, the right to the throne is then claimed by the most powerful of the race.

Pronunciation Guide

Malafiegr – Măl'- uh-fay'-air

Iehdua - Ee-eh'-doo-ah

Nivea – Ni-vay'-a

Kyndciant – Kend'-shant

Kynd – Kend

Numfverfolgt – Numf'-ver-fult

Dwra – Dwar'-uh

Prye'dlan - Pree-ed'-lun

Ejedr - Eh-sheh-deer'

Miichl - Meh'-kul

Ceolye - Col'-ee

_ma _Lafiegr - Mă'- Luh-fay'-air (This is how the Faere pronounce her name.)

Chlknet - Kul'-kah-nay

Folora - Fa-lor'-uh

Illdaen - Eyell (Welsh 'll' again)-day-een'

_sretetdwra_ - 'sreh-tet-'dwar-ah

Wynndh –Win'(wh creates a whistling sound)-nuh

_jylo_ - shy-loh

_Xin_ – Ex-in

Norca – Nor'(rolled r)-cah

Faellyn – Feh'-llyn – ('ll' as pronounced in Welsh)

Exlir – Ex-ill'-yer

Uld - Oo'-uld

Maithe - Mayth

_teieth_ - ty-eth'

Arisdona – A(like the letter)-ris-doh'-na

_mnatdilyste _– mnot'-dlis-tay


End file.
